


Old School

by corvidae9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Quidditch, old school h/d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-15
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 13:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10618203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: As if surviving seventh year wasn't hard enough for Harry without Malfoy making things worse. And if there was one thing Malfoy's pointy arse was good at, it was making things hard. Err. Worse.  ...Damn him, anyway. (H/D)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU as of the end of OotP. Written for the serpentinelion Secrets and Wishes fest '07. Thanks as always to juice817 for the beta and being the best superfriend ever, and to knitmeapony for a significant amount of the cracktastic ideas.
> 
>  **Original Request:** mizbean said: _I'm in the mood for classic Hogwarts-era H/D... I want filthy stares across Great Hall, groping in hidden alcoves, and possibly even a snog under the Quidditch stands. Sharing detention together not necessary, but would be loved. Ooh, must include an appearance by Crabbe and Goyle :D_

"How are you not dead yet, Potter?" snickered Malfoy, and his toadies all guffawed and snorted as if this had been a very witty thing to have said. In fact it was a fairly obvious question, and one which Harry asked himself every bloody day.

Harry chose a different tactic however, and smirked as nastily as Malfoy ever had, answering with a flippant shrug, "Because your dad's friends aren't very good at what they do."

The Gryffindors behind Harry hooted in amusement and and someone shoved his shoulder amiably, but his attention was wholly on Malfoy's pointy face, taking satisfaction in watching the color rise in his cheeks. He opened his mouth to come back, but Parkinson crossed her arms and took a half-step forward, squashed-up nose even further in the air than usual.

"And yet your pack of Mudbloods and blood traitors can't seem to do a thing about it," she sneered. "Funny, how that works."

"Oi, Pugface, why don't you run off and join daddy, then?" Ron sneered right back, planting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Maybe we can arrange neighboring cells in Azkaban for you and your boyfriend there when it's all over."

"Yeah? More like arrange for neighboring plots in Little Hangleton for you and _your_ little boyfriend there," Pansy shot back.

Seamus snorted and deadpanned, "Might want to take that 'little' bit back, love."

Though he was snickering, Ron smacked Seamus upside the head, adding,"and the 'boyfriend' bit, 'cos as manly as he is, Harry's just not my type." The Gryffindors broke out in laughter and rude gestures as the Slytherins muttered and scoffed amongst themselves.

All except Harry, who was busy staring down Malfoy, and Malfoy, who in turn wasn't about to back down.

Zabini rolled his eyes and shoved Malfoy's shoulder. "Either start hexing or get moving, we've got Arithmancy in five minutes."

"Sod Arithmancy!" snapped Draco, shrugging Zabini away and taking a step forward, eyes on Harry. "And to hell with you, too. Potter. Sooner, rather than later."

Harry's eyes hardened behind his glasses and he took another step as well, bringing them within a few short feet of one another as he bit off, "As always, you're welcome to try. In fact, _I dare you_."

The corridor went deathly silent. The corner of Malfoy's lip twitched upward and he tilted his head the slightest bit as he murmured, "You're on."

With no idea what he'd just done, Harry had no time to re-examine it. Head Girl badge shining on her jumper, Hermione turned the corner, stopped short and placed her hands on her hips in an frightening imitation of Professor McGonagall.

"Honestly! You can't be left alone for ten minutes! What is going on here?"

"Not a thing," said Nott smoothly as he emerged from the corridor behind Hermione, his hand landing on Draco's back. "Looks like an exchange of revision strategy."

"Bollocks," growled a frustrated Hermione. "Move along, all of you."

Parkinson cocked her head at Hermione. "Or else what, Mu-"

"Finish that sentence and it's detention for everyone," Hermione bit back, obviously in a right mood.

"We're just leaving," said Nott, flipping his collar so that his Head Boy badge was readily visible. "Aren't we?"

"Fine, then go," Hermione said, jaw set so tight it was a wonder any sound escaped. "You lot, get moving as well," she added in the Gryffindors' direction. "Classes aren't over for the day and you've no call to be loitering here."

With that, she moved on down the corridor, shoes clicking angrily against the stone. Harry and Ron traded a look of confusion as Ron called out, "Hermione, wait up!" to no avail. She kept walking, turned a sharp corner again and was out of sight. "What just happened?" Ron asked Harry, who could only shrug.

"Watch your back, Potter," hissed Malfoy as he walked away in his spot at the center of a pack of Slytherins.

Harry snickered, turning from his spot at the head of the group of Gryffindors. "Aww, Malfoy. I didn't know you cared."

###

"Seriously, Harry -- what just happened there?" Ron asked as the group broke apart, and he, Harry and Seamus continued to rush in the direction of Transfiguration.

"I think I just dared Malfoy to try and kill me," said Harry, scowling, having had a minute or so to consider it.

"Apart from that," muttered Ron, waving it off. "You've been doing _that_ for years. I meant with Hermione."

"Dunno, mate. She looked... upset," murmured Harry, though his mind was still elsewhere.

"In a right strop, if you ask me," said Ron, shaking his head. "It's almost as bad as when she was doing two days in the space of one. I may just pat her down for a time turner. Don't know why she does this to herself."

Harry smirked crookedly, elbowing Ron. "Because she's _Hermione_. Which would also be why you want to pat her down for a time-turner."

"Sod directly off, Harry," laughed Ron, half-scandalized as he elbowed back. "I was kidding. Mostly." He paused as they ran down a flight of stairs, taking them two at a time as they did. "We should still find out what her problem is."

"It's the middle of April and we have N.E.W.T.s coming up? Before, during or after which, I may die horribly?" Harry asked disingenuously.

Ron stopped short and cocked his head at Harry, eyes narrow. He didn't have to say anything else.

"Alright," said Harry, cuffing his shoulder. "So ask her."

Brow knit, Ron said almost plaintively, "Mate, do you remember the last time I asked Hermione what her problem was?"

"Point," Harry answered, chagrined, suddenly shoving Ron through the classroom door. "I'll ask her before dinner."

###

Harry had meant to ask Hermione, but she had practically disappeared from Transfiguration and he hadn't caught sight of her again the rest of the afternoon or even once they arrived in the Great Hall for dinner. Exchanging a mutual frown, he and Ron didn't bother to verbalize the plan as they wrapped up a sandwich and apples for her and set it aside in case she didn't make it down to eat at all. 

What he _had_ noticed was Malfoy, sitting across the Hall in his customary location; directly in the center of the Slytherin table in a rough reflection of Harry's own position at the Gryffindor table. It wasn't new-- after all, he couldn't help but notice Malfoy. The Ferret was always dead center of the activity, whether ringleading or sitting back and surveying his kingdom. Today however, there was something different, something wrong.

Malfoy was watching Harry-- not glaring, not smirking. _Watching_. Harry could hear the gears moving in his head, could practically see the calculations scrolling through his mind. It was just like when Hermione was hatching a plan, and it was disturbing to say the least.

Speaking of whom, Hermione was still nowhere to be found by the time the pudding appeared, and Harry finally excused himself from a discussion on the furor over the faulty stabilization charms that had been shipped out with the new generation of Shooting Stars. He took the bundle (to which Ron had added two fat oatmeal biscuits) and left Ron in the company of Seamus and Dean while Harry went looking.

Harry was hoping the search would be relatively short and uneventful-- after all, when Hermione was nowhere to be seen, it was likely she was hiding in--

"Potter," said an easily recognizable voice behind him. Harry spun, but Malfoy shoved him against the corridor, held him there for only a moment and then stepped back, Seeker-quick.

"What the hell?" scowled Harry, pulling away from the wall just as quickly, standing shoulders back and prepared for a fight.

"Not the best of ideas, walking around the castle alone," Malfoy sneered. "Not with the deathwish you're carrying around."

Harry shrugged, casting an obvious glance over Malfoy's shoulder where for once, there was no hint of Crabbe, Goyle, Nott or any other of Malfoy's sycophants.

"Getting brave for a Slytherin, aren't you?"

Malfoy had the nerve to laugh even as he took another step back.

"We're not playing a game, Potter," said Malfoy, pausing to offer a shallow yet graceful bow. "It was only civil to make sure you were aware." The look on Malfoy's face was full of disturbing determination.

"Since when have you given a damn about civility?" Harry spat, beginning to close the distance between them, but Malfoy only continued to retreat.

"Not since first year when it comes to _you_ ," he conceded. "But we're about appearances, aren't we?" Malfoy sidestepped, pressed on a brick and the hidden one-way corridor to the Library slid open. Someone else might've been properly impressed, but there were few things about the castle's layout that surprised Harry anymore.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Harry, openly disgusted.

Malfoy stepped into the corridor, smirked, then disappeared from view as the stone slid into place again. Harry might've followed if he were so inclined, but there was no point. Instead, he settled for kicking the wall with the sole of his boot and resuming his own walk to the Library the long way, as if to prove a point.

###

The longer walk wasn't at all helpful. Harry spent the majority of it with his ears and eyes open, waiting for an ambush that didn't come. By the time he reached the Library corridor, he was paranoid enough that he sidled up to the corner and peered around it carefully before proceeding.

 _Then_ he hurled any number of curses at himself mentally for allowing Malfoy to get to him, earning him a dirty look from Madam Pince as the Library door he'd yanked open slammed shut behind him. Instead of asking her if she'd seen Hermione, he decided instead to begin in Hermione's favorite study spot and make his way through the rest in descending order of preference.

Fortunately he'd only tried two before stumbling across Hermione between two little-used shelves in a corner of the lower level. The floor around her was littered with piles of dusty books, textbooks and folios of bound parchment. Her hair was up in a messy knot and her jumper was tossed over a chair along with her school cloak, shirtsleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to the elbow. She was leaning over the large sheet of parchment spread open to cover most of the table and held down at the corners by an inkwell, a rock, her day planner and Crookshanks.

Harry grinned hugely-- and knew far better than to startle her. Instead he scuffed his foot loudly and coughed as he knocked on the nearest bookcase.

"I heard you coming, Harry. I'm just a little occupied at the moment," she muttered, drawing a careful line and then lifting her ruler before looking up. "Yes? Can I help you? Start any fights lately?"

His grin died away at that. "I didn't _start_ anything, Hermione," he said, mildly peeved. He produced the bundle from his bag and set it on the stack of books nearest her, not daring to set it anywhere near her work. "You missed dinner."

"What?" she said looking up and around. "That's ridiculous. It's only--" Finding no trace of a clock as she no doubt knew she would, she interrupted herself to mutter, " _Tempus_ ," and then gasped as the spell's illuminated digits pronounced the time to be five after seven.

"It's like I said," shrugged Harry. "You missed dinner."

"But-- bugger. This will never dry in time," she swore, gathering up her things in a rush. "And I'm late for the Prefect's meeting."

"Hermione--" said Harry, reaching for her elbow as she moved quickly and cast a stasis charm over the area, leaving a note suspended in midair that read, _This study area off limits. Do not attempt to cross wards. See the Head Girl for more information._

"That should do it. I'll be back in less than an hour or so anyway and Crookshanks won't mind keeping an eye out," she said, bag slung over her shoulder. As if he'd understood, the cat stretched out from the tightly curled ball he'd been in and created a furry orange barrier between a casual passerby and Hermione's parchment. Actually, after all these years, Harry _knew_ the cat had understood her perfectly, was following her instructions and was not to be trifled with. Much like Hermione, who was already walking away.

"Hey-- hey!" Harry called, hurrying to keep up with her. "Your dinner!"

"No time. I'll get it when I get back," said Hermione, trotting up the stairs to the main level of the Library. "Follow me if you want to talk, Harry, and move fast."

"You've got to slow down," he huffed as he fell into step beside her.

"Pfft!" said Hermione with a half-snort. "Your legs are more than long enough to keep up."

"That's not what I mean," said Harry. "I'm worried about you. We both are, me and Ron."

"Then both of you need to stop being alarmists," Hermione sighed.

"Hermione, you haven't eaten since breakfast, you wanted to send a bunch of us to the chop for the usual noise with the Slytherins, you missed Supplementary Defence last night and you are now... seven minutes late to a Prefect's meeting."

"I'm fine," said Hermione, beginning to sound annoyed. "I'm sorry. I've had a stressful week."

" _Hermione_ ," Harry hissed, tugging on her elbow as he stopped in his tracks. "Look at me."

" _I am perfectly fine_ ," Hermione scowled, pulling her arm from his easy grip when he impeded her forward movement. Her eyes met his and she softened a little, her shoulders coming down a notch. "It's just-- it's been hard lately," she finally conceded, chin up though making it sound as though she were ashamed of that being the case.

"So talk to me," said Harry. "Or Ron. Or both of us. We can help--"

She crossed her arms just below her breasts and looked away. "I have to get to this meeting, Harry."

"Fine," Harry said, resuming the walk again without her, making it her turn to catch up.

"Afterwards."

"Huh?"

"We'll talk after. If you still want to," murmured Hermione, still looking straight ahead. "I promise."

"Oh," said Harry, nodding once, slowly. "Ok."

Hermione came to a stop in front of the classroom where the Prefects were assembled, reached up and kissed Harry on the cheek, then disappeared through the door. Harry watched until the door shut, moved about ten paces down the corridor then slid down the wall and sat down to wait, not intending to give her a chance to get away.

###

Harry had set his head back against the wall making no effort to do anything but stare out the ancient windows in between bouts of blinking heavily. Zoning out but still awake, he was surprised that he hadn't heard the approaching footsteps until the person causing them was about five feet away. Harry's eyes narrowed as Malfoy made his way down the corridor, not bothering to say or do anything but smirk and murmur, "Potter," by way of...what? surely not a greeting? as he walked. As quickly as he'd come, Malfoy was gone, disappearing down the stairs at the other end of the corridor.

It was no coincidence. He frowned and sat back, calling out, "It's not going to work, Malfoy." He made the effort to sound as unconcerned as possible, but it was hard to maintain when Malfoy didn't even answer.

Harry spent the next forty minutes or so turning the situation over in his mind. Ron and Hermione had spent the last half of sixth year insisting he'd been obsessing on Malfoy and as little as he cared to admit it, he knew it as well as they did. He couldn't have helped himself; he _had_ been obsessed with finding out what Malfoy had been doing in the Room of Requirement, convinced it was something sinister, sure it had something to do with the Dark Lord. Harry hadn't been entirely wrong.

When Harry discovered him pulling his mother furtively through the wardrobe there and leading her to Dumbledore's office, the only other people he'd ever told were Ron and Hermione. _Then_ they'd gone with him to destroy it. Odd, the twist of fate that led to Malfoy's having no idea that Harry was guarding Malfoy's mother's secret just as carefully as Malfoy himself. Just as oddly fitting as his walking in on the wardrobe's destruction. The look on Malfoy's face when he'd opened the door to the Room of Requirement had seemed equal parts loathing, fury and relief, pointing in an unconscious imitation of his father as he spat, "An hour ago, Potter, I would have killed you all for that."

The residual memory of Malfoy's smoldering anger stayed with Harry. He knew what it was like to care that much about someone... he'd just never expected Malfoy to be capable of it.

The door to the classroom opened and students began spilling out into the corridor, most not casting more than a perfunctory glance in Harry's direction. One stopped long enough to offer a disapproving headshake.

"Potter. I could give you detention for being out here at this hour."

Harry snorted a laugh and held a hand up. "Bollocks. I was studying in the Library."

"As usual," Justin grumbled. He took hold of the offered hand and hauled Harry to his feet.

"Seen Hermione?" asked Harry, dusting himself off and casting a glance in the direction of the meeting still in the process of dispersing.

"She's doing the usual things too," said Justin rolling his eyes and counting off on his fingers. "Bossing us about, talking about mobilizing social awareness, instituting mandatory interhouse NEWT sessions, being harassed by the Head Boy--"

Harry's eyes snapped back to Justin. "Wazzat?"

"Interhouse cram sessions," said Justin with an offhand shrug. "Personally, I think it's brilliant, but the Ravenclaws are convinced everyone else will steal their notes and we noble Badgers are just afraid your people and Malfoy's will tear one another apart at the first bad sum."

"Huh. That's not a bad idea," said Harry, giving that a moment's thought before shaking his attention back. "What's that about Nott harrassing her?"

"Ha! Yes, well, if trying to get her to study _independently_ with him is harrassment, I suppose," Justin said, clearly amused. "Those two, though? It'd be like..." he snorted a laugh. "It'd be like putting you and Malfoy in a locked room together and tossing in a Snitch."

Harry stared at him unimpressed and Justin only laughed again.

"No lie. It's that bad, mate." Justin reconsidered and added, "Alright. Perhaps not _quite_ as bad. They'd make it out alive at least, if covered in parchment cuts."

"As you can see, Harry's walking me to the Library, and I'll be just fine, thank you," said Hermione from near the door, loudly enough that Harry heard and looked up again.

Justin elbowed him, still chuckling at his own wit. "Poor bastard hasn't got a chance. Not with you as his main competitor."

Harry's head snapped back to Justin yet again without fear of whiplash. "Excuse me? Since when am I compe-- what?!"

"With Hermione, of course." Justin sighed.

"For the last time. I am not interested in Hermione like _that_. She's my best friend." Harry made a face. "It'd be like snogging _Ron_."

Justin chortled. "Ah. So the problem is that you'd rather do _that_?"

Harry gave Justin a friendly shove that was hard enough to send him back a step. "If it was, he'd be your _main competitor_ , right?"

"Potter, I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole," said Justin at just the right moment for Hannah to take hold of his elbow and yank him into her wake as she marched past.

"Did you hear that, Mandy?" she snickered, adding in a stage whisper, "He wants to touch Potter's pole."

Harry barked a laugh, though he flushed violently, a condition that worsened when Mandy eyed him up and down and said, "Can we watch?"

"Leave his pole out of this," said Hermione, businesslike in her tomfoolery. "Let's go. I have a spell schematic that requires attention and a minion that could use a cat treat or two."

"Or ten, the fat beast," muttered Harry under his breath. He cocked his head at Justin, who was putting up no resistance to being dragged away. "Wanker."

Justin looked over his shoulder and mimed something large battering his cheek from the inside and Harry colored all over again.

"What's all that about?" said Hermione, bemused in her vague disapproval. Harry shrugged but didn't get a chance to answer.

"'Till tomorrow, Granger," said Nott, daring to tug at the chopstick in Hermione's hair in passing. He shot a look over his shoulder, tossed it lightly to Harry and went about his business.

Hermione was staring daggers at his back, though she said nothing. Harry was... flabbergasted.

"wh--?" His gaze shifted back to Hermione, who snatched the chopstick out of his hand and set busily to repinning her hair while fuming.

"Talk. Now."

"It's noth-" she began, and Harry only cut her off again.

"Talk. Or I tell Ron that Nott's giving you trouble."

It was a low blow, but it worked.

"You're an awful bastard sometimes, Harry," said Hermione, eyes narrowed as she finally began walking, her feet moving in a huffy stomp. "He's not giving me trouble... he's being..." She threw her hands up. "I don't know. If it were Seamus or Justin or hell, even Zacharias, I'd say he was flirting. Not that I'd have time for any of it. But this is Nott. _Nott_!"

"So tell him to bugger off," said Harry simply.

"It's just-- I have!"

"...You have," Harry repeated, dubious given that Hermione wasn't one to be vague about her intentions. If she wanted him to bugger off, he's be covered in boils or some such for ignoring her directive.

"I-- have," she said lamely, adjusting the bag strap on her shoulder and leading the way. "Somewhat."

"You haven't," said Harry with a nod, his eyebrow shooting up. "...Because you don't want him to."

" _Lies_!" Hermione said, shrill, darting a look around the corridor, as if there might be someone listening in. "I do! I mean-- I do want him to bugger off."

"Right," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Harry," Hermione looked around again and lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. "Along with Parkinson, Theodore Nott is Malfoy's right hand as surely as Crabbe and Goyle are his enforcers and Zabini and Bulstrode are his lieutenants. I could build you a schematic of their social structure and overlay it with ours and it would be a disturbing match excepting the fact that our enforcers have minds of their own." She shrugged leaving that logical loophole open as she went on. "But Harry, do you see? He's me!"

She might have been the one sighing at Harry as though he were slow, but she'd definitely cracked.

"He's Hermione to Draco's Harry."

Harry was suddenly convinced that she had in fact lost her mind, because nowhere on the green earth should the term 'Draco's Harry' be allowed. He shook his head once, held up a hand and grumbled, "Just stop there. Please."

"I can't _date_ myself, Harry. It's... ridiculous. It's a bad idea. It's... it's... his father's a suspected Death Eater and I'm a Muggleborn for god's sake!"

"He's not _you_ , nowhere near it. And if he's after you, he can't possibly--" Harry stopped and sighed. He didn't have logic that Hermione hadn't already come up with on her own. There was only one thing to be done.

"Do I need to kick his arse? I'll do it, you say the word."

Hermione snorted and bumped him. "If he needed his arse kicked, I'd have done it by now."

"But you haven't."

"Shut up."

"He's not you, Hermione," said Harry. "He doesn't deserve you, but he's not you."

Hermione was quiet and Harry left her to her thoughts.

"Are you ready for the match Saturday?" she finally said once they were back in the Library. Harry welcomed the subject change, answering her with absolute certainty and without missing a beat.

"Ravenclaw is well and truly buggered. Hard, fast and without the benefit of a nice dinner beforehand."

Madam Pince actually _growled_ when Hermione burst out laughing. She bit her lip after the initial outburst and picked the pace up to a trot the whole way back to her corner.

"Hermione--" whispered Harry once Hermione safely began taking down her stasis charms, bending to stratch Crookshanks behind the ears.

"--What?"

He cracked a huge grin.

"...Does that make Ron Parkinson?"

###

It was Saturday morning and the Gryffindor Quidditch team sat in a group near the middle of their house table at the center of a rowdy impromptu pep rallyfor the second-to-the-last game of the season. The Creevey brothers were engaged in running laps around the table, swinging baguettes instead of their bats and sending strawberries and melon balls flying over the cheering students. The Ravenclaws were for the most part, curiously absent, the Hufflepuffs in general were amused and the Slytherin table amounted to one unified scowl of disapproval.

Harry sat between Ron and Tatiana, their newest Chaser, a leggy fifth year, blond and made up down to her Muggle hairspray-set ponytail and huge gold hoop earrings. Seemingly set to follow in the legendary fashionable footsteps of Lavender and Parvati, she'd set everyone straight the first time she opened her mouth. The heavy accent of a lifetime urban Londoner peppered with crude obscenities fit to make Hermione cringe and her sheer ferocity on a broom had won instant approval with the rest of the team. Within a week, she'd been flying with Ginny and Vicky as though they'd flown together all their lives, and even Ron and Harry couldn't keep from comparing them favorably to the legendary Spinnet, Johnson and Bell. Christ-- they were downright _carnivorous_.

Tatiana leaned back on the bench and caught Dennis around the waist as he trotted past, falling back against Harry in the process of stopping Dennis' momentum.

"Sit your arse down, you scrawny twat," she said with a shake. "Eat something so we can get the hell out of here and up in the air."

"Hands off my brother, wench," said Colin, smacking her with his baguette in passing, which in turn caused her to use a struggling Dennis as a human shield.

"Geroff me!" he whined, and Harry elbowed her.

"Not what you said last night," said Tatiana with a filthy leer, and the team and everyone around them howled with laughter.

"I'm surprised you know what 'get off' means," said Dennis, rocking back on his heels to grind against her.

Tatiana set both her hands directly on his arse and shoved him into Colin. " _I'm_ surprised you even knew what I was talking about. Tuck the fuck in."

Ginny fought stray chuckles as she leaned over the table and tugged on Harry's sleeve. "We should get gone."

Full of nervous excitement, Harry nodded and used Ron's shoulder as a handhold to push himself up off of the bench. "Alright, let's go."

As one, the team extracted themselves from the table. Harry, Ron and Ginny stopped to squeeze Hermione's shoulder and make sure they'd see her in a bit, Colin shoved a roll into Dennis' mouth and followed suit, Vicky and Tatiana slung friendly arms around each others' waists just to twist the knife a little harder into any boy watching and then they all made their way out of the Hall. Professor McGonagall beamed serenely from the faculty table, and Harry grinned back on the way out, catching a faint strain of someone complaining about keeping her hooligans in check.

In essence, things were as they should be. Until they reached the locker rooms.

"Harry--" called Dennis, interrupting Harry as was about to open his locker. "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure," said Harry, lowering his hand again and turning to face him. "What's up?"

"About that play we went over last night," Dennis said, all serious business as he crossed his arms and leaned up against Harry's locker. "I wonder if--"

And that's all Harry heard. The locker suddenly gave the appearance of crumbling in on itself for a brief moment before exploding upward, its door splitting and becoming metal arms that grabbed on to a shocked Dennis, sucked him into the space behind them and sealed tightly again. Harry stared, grimacing at the sound of a satisfied belch sounding from the vents. Automatically reaching to pound on the door, Harry paused, wary of touching it himself. Ron ran up and swore, pointing in the direction of the locker.

"What the bloody hell was that?!"

"Dennis? Dennis! You hear me, mate?" Harry called out, wand in hand.

"Mrrrph!!!" came a muffled sound from behind the other side of the metal, unintelligible yet broadcasting panic all the same.

Colin was at the locker and banging on it himself just a second later. "Son of a bitch! You give my brother back _now_!"

The locker rumbled a happy growl and squinched in on itself a little more, causing Dennis to issue forth another squeaky, panicked mumble. Ron grabbed Colin and pulled him away, saying, "Stop! You're pissing it off."

Harry shouted, "Shield your eyes, Dennis!" and cast _Finite Incantatem_ to no avail. The locker chuckled, low and sinister and the three of them stopped and cast stricken glances at it and then each other.

"Alright," said Harry, setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders. The air crackled around them and suddenly the power radiating off of him set the lights flickering. He raised his wand and Colin's eyes went wide, but Harry didn't notice. He was concentrating on Banishing the locker, but not Dennis. It was risky, but he _knew_ he could do it. He had no choice from the way the locker was beginning to twist. "Alright, wanker. Let's go."

When he cast the spell, the bulbs in the room shattered completely, leaving them in the dark.

"Dennis?" asked Colin quietly above the sound of Ron casting _Lumos_.

In the growing, bluish light, they could see Dennis sitting crunched between the lockers on either side of Harry's, eyes wide.

"Heh," he said, coughing once, then pressed a hand to his face, dazed. "The locker ate me."

###

The four boys of the Gryffindor Quidditch team stalked out of their locker room, their captain wearing an old set of robes, since his new ones had been Banished with his cursed locker. Ginny, Vicky and Tatiana were standing near the door and were ignored completely as the boys stormed past and directly into the path of the Ravenclaw team just emerging from the opposite set of rooms.

"Did you lot have any problems with your lockers?" Harry said, displeased but not entirely convinced Ravenclaw was responsible. Unfortunately, he was largely ignored in favor of Colin's shoving past him to get right up in Michael's face, fisting the front of his blue and bronze robes.

"Think you're funny, do you?"

"Whoa!" shouted Ron, grabbing Colin again as Harry did the same, pulling him back a step.

"You stay away from my brother or I swear to god I'll kill you!" Colin shouted to a collective gasp of onlookers.

Michael, who hadn't had a chance to answer as of yet, only shook his head. "Potter, has he finally lost what little mind he had to begin with?"

Dennis popped a hand in the air and volunteered, "Harry's locker ate me."

The crowd around him mumbled again, and Harry gave Colin a shake.

"Well?" Harry asked as reasonably as he could manage. " _Did_ you ha--"

"Unless you want to count these two ponces grabassing," Michael said, cocking his chin toward two of his Chasers. "Not a damn thing happened over here." He narrowed his eyes and leaned toward Colin, pointedly straightening the front of his robes. "If I wanted to hurt your brother, neither of you would have seen it coming, Creevey. Ravenclaws are more subtle than all that."

Unconvinced, Colin growled, "Fuck you, Corner."

"Not even if you wore a skirt and asked nicely," sneered Michael.

Ron tugged back on Colin's arm as he made to lunge again, but Harry was busy looking over his shoulder in the direction of the Slytherin stands.

Malfoy was standing at the base of the nearest post, smirking, arms crossed and leaning as though he hadn't a care in the world. He offered an unconcerned shrug as if to say, "better luck next time", pushed off and walked away. Harry's blood ran cold as he pulled Colin back another step.

"Don't, Colin. It wasn't him."

Ginny shoved Harry's Firebolt into his hands, though she glared all around and snarled, "Game time. Move."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Predictably, Gryffindor owned the game from beginning to end. There was a point in time at which it appeared that the Ravenclaw Seeker had come within... about three feet of catching up to Harry, but the boy just couldn't keep up, especially not with Colin and Dennis hot on his trail. Ron was at the top of his game, the girls were vicious and the score ended 255 to 10.

Harry hopped off of his broom a good four feet up and hit the ground running to the deafening cheers from the Gryffindor stands. Awash in a crowd of friends and housemates, he slapped palms with people he recognized as he jogged through, finally ducking and charging Hermione. His arms went around her waist and he lifted and spun her twice, regardless of her giggling, surprised protest. He set her down in front of Ron who braved another flailing hand to rush in and do the same, and when he set her down dizzy from more than two rotations, Ginny slammed into her and they both burst into laughter as Ginny pretended to lift her, too.

"Hooligans!" shrilled Hermione, trying to sound more put out than she was and leaning heavily on Ginny. "How dare you?"

"We were amazing," said Ginny, snorting a laugh as Hermione reached out to smack an overly smug Ron. "We can do whatever we want."

"Your head is going to explode, you realize?" said Hermione, shaking her head and pulling loose.

"Nah," said Ginny. "We're still sure Ron's fairly useless otherwise."

It was Ron's turn to swat at Ginny's head. "Shut your mouth. Anyone here's useless, it's you."

"Listen, Hermione--" said Harry, serious though still smiling. "We should probably talk."

"Ugh," Hermione cut him off. "We probably should, but the lot of you are disgusting. Please. _Want_ to shower."

Tatiana slapped Harry on the arse as she trotted past, calling out, "And we could sell tickets to _that_ at least," and was gone as quickly as she came trailing a cloud of boys and at least two girls.

Hermione called after her, "Good game!" purposefully ignoring the comic look of affront on Harry's face. "What?" she said, turning back to him and trying not to laugh. "It was!"

"I don't believe you people," said Harry, shaking his head. "Fine. Shower," he murmured, backtracking then turning to leave. "But then, we have to talk."

Another hand slapped him on the arse and his head popped up.

"That's not funny, Hermione!"

Ginny, Ron and Hermione were snickering behind their hands, all looking the likely suspect.

"I didn't see anything, mate," said Ron with a shrug.

"...I hate you," muttered Harry with no real feeling, and finally jogged away grinning.

###

As much as Harry (somewhat) intended to hurry through the process, he was waylaid repeatedly on the way to the showers, and consequently slapped on the arse at least twice again as he finally made his way into the locker room. A showered and changed Tatiana ran by, taunting him for being slow-coach John or a gloryhound or both. He shot a dark look at the rapidly-disappearing fifth year over his shoulder as he made his way to the boys' half of the locker room, tossing aside his replacement jumper and unfastened gloves the moment the lockers and benches were in sight. His locker was back, if a little dented, but after no more than a dubious second look, he still chose to sit near the empty one he'd used instead before the game.

Already on alert, he was interrupted by a sound across the room. He immediately straightened from tugging at the laces of his shin guards, only to slump again as he caught sight of Ron running back in.

"Took you long enough, mate," Ron said, grinning hugely, digging through his locker for whatever he'd forgotten. "Hurry up, would you?"

Harry grinned back and tossed a wadded-up sock at him. "Isn't as if I'll miss the party."

"Ugh," said Ron, offhandedly sidestepping it and going on. "True. Hermione's already complaining about it cutting into her revision schedule. So hurry anyway, we'll need reinforcements. Possibly a distraction for when Seamus pulls out the rum, too."

Harry stood and let his trousers fall away and stepped out of them, speaking as he stripped off his shirt. "Stop bothering me, then." He said it as nonchalantly as he could, and of course, it was no big deal. After all, this was _Ron_ ; it wasn't as if they hadn't spent seven years living in the same dorm. Still, Harry was keenly aware of his presence, and it wasn't so far from the truth to say that he might possibly be known for being the last for the express purpose of being left alone to clean up.

It also probably wouldn't be far from the truth to say that Ron knew that this was the case and would never call him on it.

"Suit yourself, mate," said Ron, kicking the sock back at Harry and turning to go.

"I'll be there in time to distract, don't worry," Harry called, already walking through the inner door.

"You'd better!" was the last thing Harry heard before the door shut behind him. He shucked his pants, tossed them in the hamper and went directly to the furthest stall, where he let the hot water batter him for a long time before he even acquainted himself with soap and shampoo.

He didn't want to think about his carnivorous locker or the way Malfoy had been following him around. In fact, why the subject of Malfoy should become something at all germane to his present situation only served to rile him. Briefly he wondered whether Malfoy had been as aware of his ever-stalking presence last year as Harry was of his now, and just as briefly found that he might almost be sorry if he had.

Done showering, he shut the water off and reached for a towel to scrub through his hair, then fastened it around his hips. He retrieved his glasses from a stone shelf that receded back into the smooth surface of the wall once it was no longer in use, and wiped them off on a corner of his towel as he exited the bathroom area.

The door swung shut behind him and Harry finally slipped his glasses back on and returned his attention to where he was going, only to find Malfoy in his direct line of sight. All he managed was, "Wha-" before he was slammed into the wall by a spell he hadn't heard coming.

Malfoy looked to be on the verge of adding comment, but surprisingly, said nothing.

"Get a new trick, Malfoy," said Harry after a well-placed, 'oof'. "What do you want?" He wiggled his fingers and found that there wasn't much in the way of his range of motion. He did his best to sound unconcerned, but pinned magically to a wall, naked but for a towel was most definitely not an ideal situation in any sense.

"I warned you," Malfoy said, though he paused, his eyes slid from Harry's still-wet hair down to his freshly scrubbed feet and back before he quickly rolled his eyes away. Harry could see the wand held at Malfoy's side as he approached and his face flushed, heat spreading directly down his chest and exposed middle, his prick undeniably rising even as his stomach gave a sickening lurch.

"Go to hell," spat Harry. "You can't touch me."

"Oh?" said Malfoy, eyebrow raised, close enough that if he held his wand out, he could set it dead center of Harry's chest. Which he did.

"No," Harry said, jaw set, lip curled. "Because that would make you just as bad as your father."

Malfoy's mouth pulled into a straight line, his entire cool demeanor changing in an instant as he dragged the tip of his wand up to Harry's throat. "You don't know anything about my father. You--" he added with a jab, "know even less about me."

"Wrong." Overwhelmed with just how ridiculous the situation had become, and just how little control he had over changing it, Harry actually laughed. "I know-- I know all about you, Malfoy. What days you don't give a damn about getting to breakfast and how long you take to shower--"

"You--" snarled Malfoy, his wand digging uncomfortably further into Harry's throat, color high in his cheeks. "You just couldn't leave well enough alone."

Harry coughed. "I thought you were working for Voldemort. Watching you was a survival tactic."

Malfoy flinched visibly at the use of Voldemort's name, but his jaw remained set. "You have no idea what you could have done. You didn't give a damn, you just wanted to stop me, to thwart _me_. That wasn't about the Dark Lord."

"I know about your mother," Harry rasped.

The wand was suddenly gone, as was the spell holding Harry in place, and he slipped down the wall without warning. His feet hit the ground and he dropped into a crouch before he straightened up. Malfoy was staring at him as though he'd grown another head. "...What? "

"I said, I know about--" Harry said, hitching up his slipping towel and stepping into Malfoy's personal space.

"Shut your mouth," said Malfoy, scowling and shoving Harry away and taking another step back. Harry hadn't noticed the exact moment he'd taken the offensive but he pressed it for all it was worth, all the while ignoring the fact that the place Malfoy had shoved him still burned too warmly to seem normal. Harry's head jerked back as another towel wound around his neck and pulled him physically away. Eyes wide, his hands clamped down on it, pulling it away from his throat as best he could.

"My father is weak. He's a liar and he sold my mother and I out without a second thought and I am nothing like him. _Nothing._ "

Confused, concerned for his continued breathing but still not willing to back down at all, Harry rasped, "I know."

"No," growled Malfoy. The towel felt as though it _wanted_ to tighten further. "You don't." Malfoy glared a moment longer, then turned on his heel and let the enchantment drop as the door slammed behind him.

###

Ron was actually whistling as he made his way down through the castle on a preemptory refill run, meaning that he hadn't been to the common room yet, but he knew that once he did make it there, _something_ would be lacking. Thus, he would make his life easier by bribing Dobby to show up with an armload of snacks in about half an hour. He made his way down a staircase two steps at a time, hopping down at the end and swinging around a bannister only to come face to face with Pansy Parkinson. His reaction was automatic-- he grimaced comically, nose wrinkling as he made to sidestep her.

Parkinson however sidestepped right along and stayed in his path. Nearly an entire head shorter than Ron, she stood straight, chin up, haughty and entirely wrong in her too-short skirts and her tailored jumpers and--

"Weasel. Socking away provisions for the summer?"

\--complete and utter state of unrelenting bitchiness.

"Parkinson. Out of firsties to hang by the toes?"

Parkinson smiled using too many teeth. "It only takes once or twice before they learn not to cross me."

Ron rolled his eyes, came to a stop and crossed his arms.

"You're a spiteful harpy that's spent seven years trying to make out that you're that much better than me when it's clear that you're the worst kind of rubbish and we'll probably end up killing each other --literally-- once school is out," Ron said reasonably. After all there was no need to exaggerate just how lacking Parkinson was.

Parkinson had the nerve to laugh even as she moved closer. "You have no real idea, do you?"

"I'm not doing this again," he said staunchly, turning his head away. It was either a very stupid or very brilliant move, and Parkinson took full advantage, sliding her hand up his chest and the side of his neck, her fingernails raking through the short hair at the base of his neck.

Ron was by no means stupid.

"Yes you are," she purred, tugging him down and kissing his jaw. "You missed me."

He growled and palmed her hip roughly with no measure of gentleness as he yanked her close.

"I could live the rest of my life happy if I never set eyes on you again."

Far from registering hurt, Pansy grinned again.

"It isn't your eyes I'm interested in, Weasley."

###

Hermione sat arms crossed over one bent knee in the window niche in a strategically chosen, little-used corridor, frowning at Harry.

"The locker _ate_ Dennis. Then Malfoy tried to kill you with a towel. Is that what you're saying, Harry?"

Harry couldn't help a snicker despite it all. "Well. When you say it that way..."

"Be serious," said Hermione, her voice high and impatient. "You might've really been hurt!"

Shrugging, Harry grunted noncommittally. "I'm not afraid of that ferret."

"Nor should you be, but you could at least exhibit some caution!" said Hermione, and Harry felt justified in not having told her about the incident in the corridor a few weeks back. "I think at the least, you should tell Professor McGonagall."

"No!" said Harry, sitting up and further vindicated for having left out several key details of the encounter. "She'd get worried and start investigating and restricting and I won't get two feet from the Tower without being watched at all times."

Hermione only looked at him as if waiting for him to get to the drawback. Some days he hated being able to read her so well.

"...That would be bad, Hermione."

She sighed and tilted her head at him, as if it would change his mind. As if _that_ had ever worked.

Harry was overcome with the impulse to do what he'd been pondering for days. He suddenly leaned forward and closed the distance between them, crushing his lips to Hermione's. Her only response was a squeak of surprise before she even made some semblance of kissing back. He was definitely intent on going about this the right way-- hand on the side of her neck, eyes shut, concentrating on all the things he'd learned since his first... err. _Moist_ kisses gone awry. It was soft, sweet and warm, and he sighed as he finally pulled away.

Eyes fluttering open, Hermione paused for a breath before furrowing her brow deeply and asking, "Exactly what was that for?"

Bloody hell. It had been entirely wrong, is what. And the thing was, Harry had known it would be.

"I don't know," Harry said, shrugging and scratching at the back of his neck. "I just wanted to see--" He shrugged again. "I--"

Hermione kept looking at him, and Harry scrunched up an eye, feeling like a total arse.

"Sorry?"

"Harry--" Hermione began delicately, dropping her eyes to her hands. "It isn't that I don't love you, you know, because I do! Only-- not like... like--"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please stop. It's not..." he interrupted. "It wasn't about _you_ , specifically. And I think I got my answer. Think I had it to begin with."

"Oh," Hermione said, pursing her lips. A brief and weighty silence fell over them and then suddenly Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh!"

Pained, Harry held up a hand. "I mean-- it wasn't a sudden realization or anything." God help him, and even if it had been, the last thing he wanted to do was credit Malfoy for it, even if only in his mind. But it hadn't been, he knew that. It _had_ been a long time coming.

Hermione caught his hand and squeezed it. "It's alright, Harry. It's safe with me."

"Hell," muttered Harry.

"Silly," she went on. "How do you suppose kissing _me_ was going to help?"

"It's just... I wanted to be absolutely sure." He sounded like an idiot to himself as it was, he couldn't imagine what Hermione made of it.

"Seems like you really ought to have tried kissing someone else," said Hermione. "Like whomever it was that--"

"Hermione. Please," groaned Harry. "Can we please just forget this happened?" He swore and let his head drop back against the window. "It's completely mad."

"It isn't! Not at all," said Hermione, and Harry could hear the gearing-up tone of voice that some days was akin to the screech of nails on chalkboard. "Plenty of boys feel that way and it's only--"

" _Hermione_. Drop it."

For once, she let it drop. After a short pause, she murmured, "Ok."

He wasn't watching, but he felt her scoot closer. Automatically slinging an arm around her shoulders, Harry sighed, shut his eyes and tried not to think about just how colossally fucked he was.

No more than ten minutes later, two Gryffindor firsties rounded the corner. The shorter of the two, a slight girl with blonde pigtails, squeaked out, "Um. We were sent to find you. They told us not to come back until we did."

The other, a stocky boy snickered and added, "Should we tell them you were snogging and not to be disturbed?"

###

"Did you hear?" said a Ravenclaw fourth-year over the shoulder of her sister, the sixth-year Slytherin. "Potter was actually caught _in flagrante_ with Granger yesterday. Bit of a celebration after that cheat won the game for them, I hear."

The Slytherin sister's eyebrows went up, her mouth twisting into an exaggerated 'o' of shock, rapidly obscured by one hand. "No!"

"Yes!" the Ravenclaw said through a giggle. "Late for his own victory party. Practically showed up trousers in hand, is the story going around."

"How utterly gauche!" said the Slytherin, exchanging a knowing glance with the girl at her elbow.

"What else could be expected, darling? At any rate, I've got to get back to revising. But I thought you should know."

Theo's eyes narrowed as the sisters cheek-kissed, not two spaces down from where he was seated. As the Ravenclaw made to walk away, he leaned back to catch her around the wrist.

"Where did you hear that?" he growled, making it patently clear that he was not in any mood to be defied. The Ravenclaw's eyes went wide, her gaze darting to the people around him and finding no help there, to her sister.

"Where?" Theo insisted, tightening his grip. Pansy laid a warning hand on his knee but said nothing.

"You're hurting me," whined the Ravenclaw, and her sister finally took notice.

"Leave her, Nott," the sister said, though her voice was shaky and small.

"I'm only asking a question," he said, tilting his head dangerously at the Ravenclaw. "We'd be having a conversation if she'd just answer, wouldn't we?"

"My dorm mate heard it from her best friend, who's a Hufflepuff, who heard it from her brother, the Gryffindor firstie that caught them. It's pretty much iron clad," said the Ravenclaw, adding as she straightened her back. "And I'll scream if you don't let me go."

Theo examined her for another moment before releasing her wrist, his lip curling into a sneering mockery of a smile.

"Thank you, Miss Warren," his eyes darted to her sister, who was wearing an expression of mixed relief and dread.

Oddly that seemed only to cow the Ravenclaw more than anything else had. She shrunk back without benefit of an answer and hurried back to her own table.

"Theo," said Pansy by way of warning under her breath.

Blaise in a far from surprising move, laughed hard with little mirth and was immediately joined by Millicent in doing so.

"Priceless," he muttered.

The fork in Theo's hand began to bend of its own accord and Pansy set her jaw. " _Theo_." She sighed, then hissed across the table, "Draco. Tell him he's overreacting."

No answer was forthcoming. Draco was probably occupied pondering how the information could be turned to his advantage, if the crease in his brow was any indication.

"Hello? Draco?" said Pansy, frowning.

"I heard you," he snapped at Pansy, adding in the same snotty tone to Theo, "You're overreacting. We've heard the same rumors about Potter and his hangers-on for years." Disgusted, he tossed his napkin to the table, finally pulling his eyes off of an unknown point in the distance. "And he's still a blushing mess, so they're either all lies or he's exceptionally retarded."

Quiet reigned around their tiny section of the table, and Draco looked up from straightening and dusting off his trousers and scowled.

"What?"

###

It'd been a quiet two days since the incident in the locker room. Classes were as packed from beginning to end and the amount of resultant work increased exponentially every day and Harry wondered now and then how Malfoy had the time to plot out the little incidents he did. For the most part, however, he was concerned with NEWT revision and Supplementary Defense and Quidditch, all the while trying not to deal with the fact that the school year was coming to an end.

The school year ending was never a good thing for Harry, and that wasn't taking into account any sort of mandatory testing. Every day that went by, he had the urge to pitch the schoolwork with a vow to return to it if he actually survived to see his next birthday. Ron and Hermione were in charge of reminding him why that wasn't a good idea, and had come up with rather creative ways to keep him focused.

Unfortunately, bickering as they were that Monday evening over the mysterious result of a Charms experiment gone bad, they couldn't effectively turn his attention back when he stood, stretched and declared the need for some air. Harry snatched his broom from the corner of the crowded nook before they could come up with something, slipped out of the Library, then jogged to the Astronomy Tower in search of a good place from which to launch himself off of a parapet.

He didn't get two steps through the door at the top before a growled curse struck the back of his head with what felt like the size and weight of a Bludger, and he went sprawling. The edges of his vision dimmed, but he fought to retain consciousness using the cold stone against his face as an anchor; a reminder of the slab he'd be found on next if he didn't get up and fight back.

"You arrogant prick," growled the same voice as a hand turned him roughly onto his back. The pressure against the back of his skull made him want to vomit, and Harry coughed weakly as two hands fisted in his shirt and pulled him up off of the stone again.

Vaguely through his skewed glasses, Harry was able to make out a face he should know-- wait _did_ know. "Nott?" he tried to say, and was rewarded by a sickening shake as he was dragged in some direction.

"Seven years you don't give a damn, but the minute a filthy Slytherin comes near, you move in? I don't think so."

Harry watched the opposing images of Nott swim before his vision and managed to say, "Fuck you." It didn't matter that the things Nott was saying didn't mean a damn thing to Harry, it clearly needed to be said.

Nott's eyes darted up and back, a new, more dangerous edge to his voice. "You know what? I hope that was satisfying, I do. Because it's the last time you ever pull your holier-than-th-"

"Theo!" shouted a familiar and oddly comforting voice. Malfoy shimmered out of nowhere, and Harry had the vague impression that it looked like an Invisibility Cloak slipping to the floor at his feet. Or rather, where his feet had been a moment ago. "What the hell are you doing?"

"He can't just _have_ everything he wants, Draco," Nott growled with a shake that made Harry's eyes slide shut again under the weight of the throbbing ache radiating from the base of his skull. He tried to move past it, to do something about it, but all he could do was mumble something about 'geroff'.

"You can't _kill_ him, idiot!" shouted Malfoy from his position near Harry's feet, his eyes darting up and down the passageway.

"Why the fuck not?" said Nott, sparing a glance for Malfoy. "Hypocrite. You've been trying for seven years," Harry knew he was being shaken; knew he wasn't in a safe location relative to the ground and yet his head was pounding and looping, and he couldn't quite bring his arm up, couldn't find his wand... hell. He couldn't quite feel his fingers, not really.

Malfoy spoke as though Nott were a small, slow child. "I wasn't really trying to _kill_ the git!"

"I wasn't going to either, but think, Draco. If we get rid of him, we can use it as a foot in the door with--"

" _Petrificus Totalus_!"

Nott went stiff and Harry was falling for all of a terrifying second before he was caught by a hand fisting the front of his jumper.

"This wasn't part of the plan, Theo," said Malfoy, his voice strained as he lowered Harry to the cold, hard stone. "Your fixation on Granger isn't worth a bloody _deviation_ from the bloody, sodding _plan_."

Malfoy was suddenly visible again, his face hovering not more than a foot away, and Harry's fingers reached up, brushed a cheekbone sharp enough to cut glass before falling back onto his own chest. Or he tried, but the gesture ended up resembling more a nosebeep than anything else.

"Can't let me die," Harry murmured through a slight slur. "You're me and I'm you." Malfoy frowned and Harry imagined it to be concern. And immediately attributed it to some sick variation of Stockholm Syndrome with whatever functioning part of his mind was still rationalizing away his own fixation.

With curious care, Malfoy's hand slid around the back of Harry's head, feeling up the back of his skull to where even the slight pressure made Harry feel again as though he might vomit or pass out. Malfoy frowned again, shot a dirty look in Nott's direction and swore quietly. Finally, Malfoy mumbled barely loud enough to be heard, "Sorry," and if Harry had been in any sort of state to be shocked insensate, he would be.

"Oh," he muttered instead. "'S too late. Must be dead."

Malfoy's hand slid back down to cup the nape of his neck. It was a weirdly intimate gesture that could be a prelude to any number of things, but all he said next was, " _Obliviate_."

###

Harry blinked awake with the clear impression that he was in danger. From his position on his side, he scrambled up with a gasp and found that his head felt as though it was filled with rocks. He immediately pressed a hand to his temple and muttered, "Ow."

"Harry?!" came Ron's voice even before he popped into Harry's field of vision. He didn't stay there, though-- in the few seconds Harry had been awake, he'd come to the realization that he was in a bed, and therefore welcome to lie back down. Thus, he did. Carefully.

"Wh-" began Harry, who then coughed and tried again. "What happened?"

"Scared the living shite out of us is what, mate," said Ron, rolling his eyes as he slumped backward into the chair he'd been sitting in. "How's your head?"

The fingers scrubbing down Harry's face spidered around to the back of his head and though it didn't quite _hurt_ , he grimaced at the sudden flash of a memory of Malfoy. He must have murmured it loud enough for Ron to hear and the reaction was immediate.

" _That_ sodding snake. Don't get me started," Ron sat up and pointed at Harry. "As if you wouldn't wake up and tell everyone that it was really him that attacked you. Moron."

Harry frowned. "Stairs."

Ron frowned right back. "What's that?"

"The stairs were slippery," Harry heard himself say, even though a far corner of his mind made him think it didn't quite sound right. "I was running up to the Tower with my Firebolt and-- I don't know. I fell."

Ron stared as though he might not have been speaking English.

"Come again?"

"The stairs," said Harry, though he still looked confused. "I fell. That's the last thing I remember."

Ron scowled again. "So you're just uttering Malfoy's name as an all-purpose curse these days?"

"No-- wait, what?"

"...I'm getting Madam Pomfrey," Ron said with genuine concern, but Harry's hand darted out and caught his wrist.

"Wait. Seriously Ron, what do you know?"

"You--" Ron sighed. "You said you needed some air, you took your broom and left. A while later, some firstie came running into the Library looking for me and Hermione. We got here, you were out cold. Pomfrey said that you'd fallen down more than one flight of stairs and it was lucky that Malfoy found you when he did."

"...Malfoy found me?" Harry shut his eyes with a groan of frustration. "Of course he did. That's what happens when you bloody well _stalk_ someone."

Ron had the nerve to snort a laugh.

"You would know, mate."

"Shut up."

They sat in companionable silence for a minute before Ron laughed.

"The _stairs_ , Harry? I mean, of all the things that have _tried_ to snuff you--"

Harry flailed a foot out to kick Ron, not giving a damn where it landed, as long as it landed hard.

"Not another word."

Ron laughed again, as did Harry-- a tired, incredulous sort of laughter that hid his certainty that something was off and that Malfoy was responsible somehow. Still, Hermione came bounding through the door a few moments later and in the wake of her fussing, Harry didn't say anything more.

But he _knew_.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you sure you want to do this, Hermione?" Ron asked her in all seriousness as he tugged her hand away from patting her hair for the umpteenth time since they'd set out toward the main castle gates.

Hermione swatted his hand away. "Yes of course. I'm fine. I told him that he was welcome to join me for lunch, but that I had a prior engagement in the afternoon." She paused and eyed both Ron and Harry.

"You're still my prior engagement, right? Both of you?"

"Uhhuh, said Harry distractedly as he peered into the gathering crowd, smaller than usual, given that it only consisted of seventh years. "Two o'clock, Honeyduke's. We'll be there." He turned his attention back to Hermione. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Already tried, mate," said Ron, elbowing Harry. "Pay attention."

"You're worried something might happen," said Hermione with a half-frown that said she agreed.

Harry scowled, his expression saying nothing so much as 'duh'.

"There're only the 35 of us and most are DA, plus half the teachers and about a double handful of Order members," said Ron with a shrug. "Even if it did, it wouldn't get very far."

"It's _Supplementary Defense_ not 'DA', Ronald," said Hermione under her breath with a sigh that spoke for how many times she'd repeated the phrase, though it did nothing to break the mood. Harry remained unconvinced, which suited, given that Ron didn't seem as certain as he tried to sound and Hermione was still chewing the inside of her lip. Then Ron cracked a grin.

"Besides, if we don't get out of the castle soon, I'm going to go completely mad. We all will. I mean, with the Slytherins, no one'll notice, but mad Ravenclaws, Harry? It wouldn't be pretty. "

Harry snorted a laugh and shoved Ron. "God forbid."

A polite cough sounded not far away and they all looked up to find Nott, actually smiling, hands behind his back.

"Good afternoon," he said, and though his tone held more of a smirk than was comfortable, Harry couldn't find fault with any of it. Especially since he was bound and determined to give the git the benefit of the doubt for Hermione's sake. Nott touched a hand to his chest and executed a very small bow, then held his elbow out to Hermione.

"Shall we?"

Hermione smiled and took it with a murmured, "Thank you, yes," before she said over her shoulder to Harry and Ron, "I'll see you both later?"

The scowl that Ron directed at Nott might've been the silent equivalent of a Killing Curse, but he forced a smile for her anyway, waved and said, "Yeah. Later."

Harry nodded, but when Nott turned a smirk on him, his hand slid up the back of his head involuntarily, rubbing at the spot he'd slammed into the stairs not a week earlier.

"I don't like that git," he muttered, and Ron turned away, hand covering his mouth as he bumped Harry in the direction of the village.

"Mate, I would sooner curse him than look at him, but Hermione--"

Harry shrugged in agreement. Ron didn't have to finish the thought, but he did anyway.

"--Seems to find something redeemable in him which is sick, in a way. I mean, he's a total prat, and a Slytherin to boot. We've no idea where their loyalties lie or whether they're behind the Dark Lord with all their talk out of one side of their mouths about Mudbloods while the other swears they're _not involved_. And no bloody clue how to get the bloody lipstick off your shirt without running to the Tower to change--"

Harry burst out laughing and looked down at the path crunching at his feet, as Ron turned a shade of beet red that only made Harry laugh harder.

"It's not! It's not anything like th- it's, see--" Ron sputtered.

"I get it, really," said Harry, shaking his head and fighting stray chuckles. "I live with you, remember?"

"No. I mean yes, but," said Ron, turning comically wide eyes on Harry. "It's as though..." he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck and looking around as though to make sure no one else was listening. "It's probably wrong in about a hundred ways, but it's-- it started out like... payback. Every rude thing Parkinson's ever said, every fucked up thing she and her friends've done, I was taking it out on her--" His face was flaming red still, and Harry could tell he'd given it thought, though it killed him to tell any of it as much as it had to keep it to himself. "And she gets off on it. She's just as bad as I am." He rolled his eyes. "She's got wicked sharp nails, Harry."

Harry winced. "Yeah. I've seen." He'd had an idea, through Harry wasn't exactly sure how to react to confirmation that it was in fact Parkinson responsible for Ron's suspicious disappearances as of late, not to mention the subsequent grinning and/or smirking fits.

"Ugh." Ron winced too. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"...About?"

"This. It. _Her_?" Ron's eyebrows shot up, his voice an urgent hiss. "We're talking about _Pansy Parkinson_!"

"I know," said Harry. "Caught that the first time."

"Well?!"

Harry shrugged violently, somewhat amused and willing to admit to himself that any annoyance he felt was due to his own unnamed malfunction and not Ron's.

"I don't know. What do you _want_ to do?"

Ron was silent for a moment and then the corner of his mouth twitched once, then again. The set of his jaw became more pronounced as he lost the battle with a rueful smirk he had to direct away from Harry, who had to laugh again.

"Piss off," said Ron as he kicked a rock out his path.

"I get it, I do," said Harry as he kicked his own rock. He jerked his head in Hermione's direction, somewhere at the head of the scattered group. "Her and Nott, you and Parkinson. This whole _thing_ with the Slytherins. I get it, alright?" He sighed and shrugged again, and this time the rock he kicked off of the path seemed to combust as he did. "It matters less than it used to, and it won't be worth a damn once we leave," Harry said, more thinking out loud than anything. "It's what Dumbledore's been trying to get everyone to see. It's not your House, it's what you stand for. I just wish we knew more about where they bloody well stand. I wish they'd just stop with the smokescreens and half-arsed death threats and take a side other than 'their own'." He huffed another laugh. "Exception being Quidditch. Then it's _definitely_ about your House."

When he looked up, Ron was peering sideways at him quietly, brow furrowed. Harry gave a perfunctory look around before he answered through a confused smirk of his own.

"What?"

###

Hermione's smile across the table for Theo faltered when he shook his head vehemently and skewered a bit of pasta.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but you know as well as I do that werewolf stigma exists for a reason, even disregarding issues of blood purity for just a moment. Now, I'll grant you, lycanthropes are neither at fault nor in control of their actions during a full moon unless dosed with Wolfsbane, but you're an intelligent woman! How can you not see that until someone comes up with a way of permanently breaking the lycanthropic curse, it's simply unsafe and unsanitary to allow them to run free?"

He popped his forkful into his mouth and looked expectantly at Hermione as she shredded the napkin under the table and tried to come up with a calm, rational answer. 

###

Another round of butterbeer was being served to an exceedingly loud table at the Three Broomsticks filled with friends from three of four Hogwarts Houses, and no one really even noticed when Harry excused himself for what should have been a short trip to the men's room. He spared a grin and a wave for a conspicuously-placed Tonks and Kingsley in a booth near the door and made his way down the dimly lit corridor toward the small washrooms at the rear without incident.

Upon exiting, however, he noticed the rear exit ajar when it hadn't been before, the cobbles of the back alley visible in the narrow strip of sunlight. After a quick doubletake, Harry drew his wand, quietly crept to the door and shoved it open with his foot, actuely aware that walking through would be tantamount to inviting some unseen party to curse him. Or hit him on the back of the head, though where that particular conviction came from, he couldn't quite place.

The door swung wide and not a soul was visible in the alley. He lowered his wand and took hold of the door handle to pull it shut behind him when a figure shimmered out of thin air standing just beside the door.

Harry's eyes went wide as Malfoy fisted the front of his shirt, yanked him clear of the doorway, and kicked the door shut behind him.

"Who've you told?" Malfoy growled, his tone of voice harrassed and angry.

It only took a second for Harry's instincts to kick in and shove at Malfoy's hand, wand at the ready and hex on the tip of his tongue as the lock on the door fell into place with a loud _clack_. He paused when Malfoy didn't show any indication of further aggression, though neither lowered his wand.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Harry said, eyes darting around the alley and finding no evidence of anyone else about.

Malfoy did the same and lowered his voice to a demanding whisper.

"My _mother_. How many of your cronies have you told about seeing my mother?"

"That's what this is about?" Harry said, confused. "Or is this another piss-poor attempt on my life?"

"Damn it, Potter, I need to know," said Malfoy, cheeks red as he jabbed his wand in Harry's direction. "I need to know whether you've killed us both and whether I should have just let-- left you on the stairs."

Harry would have liked nothing more than to call him out on his dramatics, but as the world stood, it was likely that Malfoy was not overstating the situation. He'd seen the articles in the _Prophet_ bemoaning the mysterious disappearance of Narcissa Malfoy, and he knew all about the speculation as to whether it had been voluntary or not and which side was responsible either way. His stomach turned at what he realized was sickening worry and dread on Malfoy's face, the lines Harry knew far too well beginning again to be marred by lack of sleep and regular meals. Warily, Harry eased up slightly on the aggression he was projecting by throwing up his free hand and shrugging.

"Ron and Hermione, arse."

"Wh--" Malfoy murmured through a grimace, though it seemed as though he was only just then breathing properly again. "Why?"

"No one else needed to know," said Harry, matter-of-fact in his contempt for the question.

" _Unbelievable_ ," Malfoy muttered, looking both relieved and faintly disgusted-- after all, it might've been the easiest way to get rid of Malfoy if Harry were really trying to do so. Instinct told Harry to just leave, and yet when he made to take a step it only brought him closer to Malfoy.

"Dumbledore thinks both you and your mother deserve another chance," said Harry, managing to meet Malfoy's eyes. "I trust him."

That had apparently been the wrong thing to say. Eyes flashing, Malfoy leaned in and snarled, " _...Another?_ We never had one to begin with!"

"Save it!" shouted Harry, leaning too in order to be able to project the full force of his frustration. "You made it clear from day one just whose side you were supporting!"

"I didn't know any better! I was _eleven_!" Malfoy shouted back. "What was I supposed to do? Actively oppose my father?"

Harry knew it made sense, but he was too worked up to back down. Instead he said with more than a hint of a sneer, "So you've kept it up for what? _Laughs_? "

" _Survival_ , you shite," spat Malfoy. "We keep up a front because not all of us are immune to the Killing Curse. Because we're waiting for you to _do your god damn job_. Because none of us are sodding well _special_ or _stupid_ or _suicidal_ enough to try it ourselves!"

Scowling, all Harry could shout in response was, "I'm not fucking immune to the Killing Curse!"

It was, in fact, a lame comeback, but fortunately, he was not in the company to recognize it as such, nor in the mood to care if he had. As it turned out, it didn't matter. Malfoy suddenly closed the distance between them, taking hold of Harry's face with both hands, wand still tightly gripped in one. His mouth crushed against Harry's, hot and insistent, sharp teeth nicking chapped lips and not stopping at all at the tang of copper that permeated what finally occurred to Harry was an actual _kiss_. He couldn't have explained the instinct to set his hands against Malfoy's stomach and run them down to his hips, couldn't have said when he rucked up the soft shirt under his fingers or when he realized he was pressing forward just as hungrily. Harry couldn't quite shake the conviction that he recognized the feel of Malfoy's fingers sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair, but he was too busy becoming addicted to the slide of his tongue against Malfoy's to care.

There was nothing soft or sweet about it, nothing planned or rehearsed or polite. Harry swallowed back a wanton groan of pure sensory overload, his heart beating against his ribcage faster than should have been possible without exploding. He ran a hand up and under Malfoy's shirt, groaning into his mouth again, palm tracing bare skin, porcelain smooth and feverish to the touch. He scarcely paused to breathe let alone to think about whether it was the right thing to do. For once, that question was the furthest thing from his mind.

###

"Theo, you are most definitely not better than me just because my parents are dentists and yours are wizards; it's a non sequitur. I'm as worthy a witch as you are a wizard, as borne out if not by the fact that you're sitting here with me by choice, then by the Head Girl badge on my bag."

"That's it exactly, don't you see? It's where we differ mainly from the D-- from our parents. With age, we've come to the realization that _I'm_ not better than _you_ per se; our society is superior to that of the Muggleborn. You for example-- you're amazing especially because you've overcome the handicap of having been raised ignorant of Wizarding society--can't you see how much more you could be if you'd been brought up in a proper environment?" He shook his head, incredulous and smiling as though he were explaining something pleasantly obvious. "Apart from the safety issues inherent in allowing any Muggle access to the Wizarding world and thus handing them the leverage to potentially hurt us, wouldn't it be better to remove the Muggleborn from the start? Put them in suitable homes? Certainly, it would necessitate some small amount of human cost, but how many Muggleborn wizards do you know ever go back and live among their Muggles? Isn't it just heading the issue off eighteen or even eleven years before it becomes a serious problem? Blood purity would be ideal, it's true, but killing Muggles and Muggleborn doesn't solve anything." He took a sip from his water glass, then huffed a laugh. "And I for one am not willing to support any inbreeding for purity of bloodlines as they stand now. I've _met_ my cousins."

Hermione stared at Theo, overwhelmed with just how erudite and charming his point of view could sound when she knew in her heart it was arse-backwards.

"First of all--" she said, gathering a breath to begin an argument she knew could be just as well-mannered and convincing if she could just stop seeing red. 

She didn't get another word out before his hand landed on her wrist, though, his attention drawn to a point somewhere outside the window.

"Theo?"

He stood and tossed his napkin on the table, tugging on her hand and urging her to follow. He fished a bag from his cloak that appeared to be holding more than enough Galleons to cover their meal and a generous tip and dumped it unceremoniously on the table. Though his eyes never left the windows, he mumbled, "It's my father. And he's not alone."

Already standing, Hermione's eyes followed the path of Theo's gaze, only to catch sight of three nondescript men walking down the street with seemingly no particular purpose and still standing out like the proverbial sore thumb. She could see the tilt of Theo's chin in the figure on the left, but he was taller and heavier, his eyes harder somehow.

"We have to get everyone back to the castle," Hermione said under her breath, back straight and chin up as she and Theo rushed from the restaurant.

###

Harry gasped a breath at what sounded like an explosion, and it broke the current between them in an instant, with no telling how long it had been since it started. Malfoy's stormcloud eyes grew huge as they snapped open and fixed on Harry, flinching at the shouts from the street that immediately followed.

"M--" was all Harry said before Malfoy shoved him hard enough that Harry landed on his arse. The back door to the pub swung open and Malfoy Disapparated without a word.

"Harry!" Kingsley shouted, his deep voice booming through the alley. Harry was still staring at the spot Malfoy had occupied, his skin heavy with the residual sensation of being touched, lips thick and probably as full and cherry red as they felt.

"Up you get," said Kingsley, grabbing Harry under his arm, unceremoniously hauling him to his feet and pulling him back through the door into the pub. "The devil were you thinking?"

Harry was still speechless, but he tried anyway.

"I-- I was-- the door. I needed air. It locked behind me."

Kingsley peered a moment longer, then resumed progress back into the common area of the pub filled with milling townsfolk and seventh years with a grunted, "Right."

Ron ran up and took hold of Harry's arm and hissed, "They're saying it's Death Eaters."

Harry finally shook his head and forced it to clear temporarily in the face of the look that Ron was giving him, as if he were trying to read Harry's mind based on the guilt scribbled across his face. And succeeding.

"Hermione," he said at the same time as Ron, who shook his arm once, then let go and started for the crowd near the main entrance. Harry followed without another word, focusing on ignoring Kingsley's calling him back, until the door swung inward again.

Tonks held up a hand and called out, "No worries, folks. Incident's been headed off. Just a little misunderstanding." Another Auror trailed behind her along with Hermione and Nott, who looked shaken.

"Alright everyone!" Hermione called out, striding in the appropriate direction and producing a clipboard that expanded as she withdrew it from her pocket. "Hogwarts students, please meet me at the Floo hearth for emergency check-in procedures. You two," she said, pointing at Ron and Harry. "At the end of the line please."

###

Hermione stood in the corridor leading down from the Headmaster's office, one hand across her middle and anchored around the opposing elbow, facing Theo, who also stood arms crossed.

"Thank you very much for lunch," she said.

"Thank you for accepting my invitation," he answered with a nod.

"I'm sorry about... what happened."

"Yes. As am I. Unsurprised, however."

"Yes."

There was another somewhat awkward moment of silence and then Hermione tried again.

"Theo--"

He reached out and took her dangling hand, breaking her loose grip in order to pull the back of her hand to his lips.

"Not today. But one day, perhaps."

Privately, Hermione felt dissected and pinned; as though he were laying claim and not at all deterred, and she told herself that she was imagining things.

But she only said, "Perhaps."

###

Harry and Ron had returned to the castle with Hermione, heard about how she and Nott had spotted the Death Eaters moving in and how the Order and Aurors on site headed them off with little effort, though they all managed to escape custody. The so-called assault had apparently been a relatively unsuccessful scare tactic. Additionally, Hermione had come to the realization that she could not, in fact, date Nott and his Pureblood rhetoric. In the grand scheme of things, a minor detail, perhaps, but a detail nonetheless.

After the informal debriefing, Harry and Ron headed to Gryffindor Tower, though Harry went directly to his dorm and left the storytelling to the other seventh years. He climbed into his bed, pulled the curtains shut and proceeded to fall face first onto his pillow, tormented by the memory of Malfoy's skin under his hands with no clue how to make it stop.

###

The official Ministry story surrounding the previous weekend's Hogsmeade trip cut short was that a handful of drunks had gone looking for trouble using Death Eater rhetoric to rile anyone they could, breaking out the window of the tiny Apothecary's shop and Disapparating before Aurors on scene could apprehend them. Naturally, the town had been thoroughly searched, but there was no evidence to support the claim that there had been actual Death Eaters on site. As could be imagined, that was quite a relief to those parents concerned about potential violence on the eve of the most highly-anticipated Hogwarts Quidditch cup match in a century.

"Naturally," repeated Ron in a voice filled with faux pomposity. He pulled away from where he'd been reading the _Prophet_ over Hermione's shoulder and grimaced. He slumped into the seat next to her, jammed a piece of toast into his mouth and added an unimpressed, "Mrrph."

"Good point though... for once. Harry's last game at Hogwarts _would_ have to be against Slytherin, and furthermore, for the Cup," Hermione said before she finally looked up and sighed. "Honestly, I'm tempted to ask if you didn't do it on purpose. With a game every other week, you lot should have been able to pull the team into a commanding lead by now."

Ron actually looked somewhat chagrined.

"Come on, Hermione. You know Harry was sick and Malfoy was cheating the first time we played them this year," he said with feeling, unconsciously shredding the rind of his orange in his hands. "Then there was the incident where we were in detention for at least two of the othe--"

He trailed off as Hermione continued to glare, choosing instead to elbow Harry. "But we can still win it. Right, mate?"

"Huh?" asked Harry, his attention snapping back to Ron, then Hermione. "Err. Right," he said, somehow making it clear he had no idea what he was agreeing to or with.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and slipped into field general mode. "Head in the game, Harry. You've one last match tomorrow and then N.E.W.T.s in two weeks, and god knows what in between or after. No time for woolgathering."

"I'm a little distracted, Hermione, I hope that's alright with you," Harry said sarcastically, drawing himself up and back from the table. " _Sorry_."

Oblivious to her confused stare and Ron's huge eyes, Harry tossed his napkin down onto the table and walked away .

###

It wasn't so much that Harry was angry over Hermione's mothering. It was more that he'd been on a thin edge for all of a week, trying to work out what the hell had really happened in Hogsmeade and why he couldn't stop thinking about it. The fact that he was obsessing hadn't escaped him. It just left him with a short fuse born out of frustration and resentment that nothing he encountered in the course of his day didn't make him think of Malfoy.

It was especially ridiculous given that the bastard had chosen to desist from his own obsessive stalking tactics since the incident. No unseen shoulders bumped Harry in corridors that were obviously empty, no footsteps followed him down to the Pitch and not once had anything in Harry's direct reach attempted to devour an unlucky housemate. When he did see him in class, Malfoy seemed to studiously avoid even sneering at him. Harry tried to tell himself that he was more interested in the fact that all the quiet must mean that the git was up to something again, something worse and more malevolent than anything he'd tried as of yet. There was even the remote possibility that Malfoy was just busy training harder for the match on Saturday, or revising for N.E.W.T.s or both.

The fact that Harry had this all worked out after only two days without being harassed probably bothered Harry more than anything else. Other things he'd worked out included the fact that there was a voice in his head that pointed and shouted that there were concrete reasons for his obsession with Malfoy; that there was an inconceivable reason he hadn't ever quite stopped watching him. He _couldn't_ stop. He may have drawn the line at following Malfoy into the Slytherin common room, but that line hadn't stopped him from following on silent feet into the Prefect's Bath once.

Once. The results of which might explain his body's reaction to the incident in the locker room two weeks ago.

There was a reason, yes, and Harry couldn't stop hating himself for it.

What had he expected at any rate?

Harry kicked a hapless suit of armor that kicked back as he stormed in the general direction of class. Normally it wouldn't have had a chance at even reaching him, but he wasn't moving fast enough in his preoccupation, and the flat side of the knight's footguards caught him squarely across the arse.

"Ow!" he scowled, more out of surprise than pain.

"Mind your manners, boy," the suit boomed, then stood silent and unmoving again. Harry decided at that very moment to change direction and duck under the staircase and under his Invisibility Cloak instead. Class would be useless to him that afternoon anyway.

###

He'd accepted the fact that Malfoy must have acquired an Invisibility Cloak of his own in order to get away with half the things he had in the past month, and it only added insult upon injury. Still, after lunch on Friday meant N.E.W.T. level Charms, mixed Houses, which also meant that he could find Malfoy there and follow him until he had an answer. That he barely had a question in mind mattered little. That he couldn't spot the Slytherin once he'd arrived mattered far more. With a swear under his breath, Harry walked back out through the open classroom door and scowled.

His anger may actually have had something to do with the fact that he immediately had a short list of places to look for Malfoy worked out without having to give it much thought, his feet automatically setting themselves on the path to the Library and down into the old stacks and study nooks.

"Damn it, not now," came a muffled voice that suddenly disappeared around the dusty shelf in the corner of the Library furthest from Hermione's favorite, thus commonly referred to as Nott's favorite.

The voices returned hushed, urgent and totally indistinguishable. Harry edged closer until he crossed their Imperturbable, made obvious when the speakers suddenly became distinct, their voices identifying them immediately as Malfoy and Nott.

"Listen to me. Now is not the time to... do whatever it is you're doing. Don't let's start in on the wisdom of taking on a side project to which no one else is privy."

"I said not now, Theo," said Malfoy, peevish and frustrated. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Yes, _now_. Yes, I do. We're with you, but blind faith is for Hufflepuffs and cretins."

Harry crept even closer; close enough to see Nott blocking Malfoy's path, arms crossed.

"I didn't ask for faith!" said Malfoy, hands up and in Nott's face. "I'm not Potter!"

Nott growled, thinly disguised as a derisive snort of laughter.

"So it's about Potter. Of course."

"Still hacked I didn't let you kill him?" asked Malfoy with enough derision of his own, and Harry's eyes went wide as he leaned closer.

"We've agreed that I may have overreacted," said Nott carefully, leaning too. "But I maintain that he wouldn't be missed."

"And I maintain that you're an idiot," Malfoy said, his jaw set so hard, the cords of his neck were pulled taut.

"An _idiot_ whose support you need if you want to keep the rest of the idiots in our house close to us, rather than running to their parents at the first sign of weakness," Nott said, moving close and forcibly adjusting Malfoy's collar and tie. "Buck. Up. You need to convince them you're worth following."

Malfoy stared daggers at Nott for a long moment, then lifted his chin and made to push past Nott.

"Fine."

Nott's hand shot out and caught Malfoy, hand splayed on his chest.

"I _am_ your friend, Draco. And if you think I don't know what's going on, perhaps we should rethink who the idiot may be."

"Though I am _not_ Head Boy, I _am_ buried with N.E.W.T. revision, and I have a game to win tomorrow," Malfoy said through gritted teeth as he continued looking straight ahead. "Not to mention of course, a major subversion of my father's legacy to carry out if I'd like to live to see my next birthday. You'll excuse me if I'm a little stressed."

"And Potter?" asked Nott, nonchalant. Malfoy slapped the hand off of his chest and finally turned to look at him.

"Can go to hell, for all I care."

"I saw the way you--"

"As can you," said Malfoy, stalking past Harry as he walked away without giving Nott a chance to finish what he had to say.

Harry stared after him, stunned. He'd had an idea that Nott and Malfoy didn't strictly agree with their parents, but in his mind, there were, always had been, and always would be only two sides available to choose from. The Slytherins had spent roughly the last two years treading the line between them while Harry and everyone else waited to see what side they would eventually take. The idea that Malfoy might _actually_ be creating a third side, though...

Nott turned and kicked the chair nearest his hip hard, causing it to slam against the ancient study table. Harry jumped and barely caught the book he knocked off of the shelf in the process, his eyes darting in the direction that Malfoy had gone. Nott didn't notice. Instead, he swore again and braced his hands on the desk, let his head hang down and muttered, "Pansy's going to love this."

Still floored without even taking into account the things that had been said about _him_ , Harry backed up a step, then turned to follow on Malfoy's heels. Malfoy, however, had seemingly disappeared. Harry ran down the corridor outside the Library, pausing at the foot of the stairs to decide what direction to look in next.

He'd only been standing there for a moment when a squarely-placed shove sent him into the wall, or should have. Instead, he fell through a tapestry and into what appeared to be a hidden alcove. Harry ended up smashed against the wall and trying to gain leverage against the stone with which to push himself upright. He hadn't quite succeeded before the tapestry shifted again, revealing a shimmer to his left, and suddenly Malfoy stood within arm's reach, scowling, his hand hovering near his wand as he let his cloak drop.

"Get up, Potter. I know you're there," he said, voice shaking with the effort of remaining calm.

Harry did, though in no way was it a response to the command. He too let his cloak slide away and stood straight, still at least four inches shorter than Malfoy at full height, and offered a belligerent, "Yeah? Good for you," though his mouth had gone completely dry. Malfoy shoved him again.

"Why can't you just leave well enough alone? Why can't you mind your own god damn business?"

Malfoy had _said_ he was stressed, but Harry could see it on his face. He put that thought out of his mind and responded instead in kind.

"Because it's fun and easy to get into yours. Better than the telly."

Malfoy was suddenly leaning into Harry's space and snarling.

"This is my _life_. These are my _friends_. The people I grew up with! It isn't a joke and you're going to kill them all with your fucking heroics and the arse-backward conviction that _you_ are always right! That your side is the only right one!"

Unflinching, Harry narrowed his eyes in the face of Malfoy's tirade and snarled, "Welcome to my world."

Malfoy appeared to be on the edge of a breakdown, face flushed and fists balled, his hair falling forward unchecked across his forehead and half over his eye. Harry had one option and he took it. He lunged forward with little grace and pressed his mouth to Malfoy's, his hands landing squarely on Malfoy's wrists to keep him from retaliating (or running away). As though he'd been expecting it, Malfoy pressed back, mouth already open, his teeth clacking against Harry's hard enough to hurt. Harry could feel the tendons in Malfoy's wrist flexing under his fingers, squeezed harder and took a step forward. It was not to be mistaken as anything but an act of aggression, and Malfoy responded in kind, nipping at his lip and trying to tug his hands free. Harry wasn't having it.

He stepped forward again and shoved Malfoy into the wall, not giving a damn about how hard or why, head tilted as he kissed him hard. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think; he didn't care about anything but the burn in his lungs as he sneaked an inhale around Malfoy's tongue, and the scrape of stone against his knuckles when he slammed Malfoy's wrist against it. Harry never planned on stopping his assault, because Christ, it was the best way of settling this once and for all, or at least so it seemed just then. He didn't give a damn that Malfoy seemed to agree because nothing could have stopped him from finally releasing one of Malfoy's wrists in order to yank at his tie and the collar that Nott had just straightened. He dropped his mouth to the soft skin of Malfoy's neck and licked, though after that first experimental taste of bittersweet, it was all about devouring the pale flesh at hand. Malfoy's free hand snaked up, pulled Harry's glasses off and tossed them aside without a thought as to where they would land, then proceeded to tug hard through his hair until he succeeded in drawing Harry's attention back upward.

"Tell anyone and I _will_ kill you," panted Malfoy, crushing Harry's mouth back to his before he could get a response, and though Harry wanted it just as badly, he wouldn't let the threat go unanswered. Even if he was at that moment preoccupied with allowing the hand on Malfoy's shoulder slide down his chest and around his waist and groping at any bit of Malfoy's skin he could get at.

"Supposed to be trying anyway," Harry mumbled between breaths, still pinning one of Malfoy's wrists and nuzzling unconsciously into the hand that had drifted around the nape of his neck. His eyes came open slowly and though without his glasses, he couldn't see much, they were close enough that he didn't even have to squint to see Malfoy smooth out a grimace at that.

"Still might," he said under his breath. "Doesn't change anything." He aimed a nipping bite at Harry's jaw and managed to still sound haughty when he said, "Probably will."

"Bollocks," growled Harry, thoughtlessly letting his head drop enough to give Malfoy better access to the column of his throat. He loosed a moan and shifted to work on the buttons of Malfoy's shirt. "Bastard."

"You wanted me to," Malfoy murmured through sloppy kisses and Harry shivered again under the teeth scraping just under his ear, "You _still_ do. Stupid. I still will."

"Don't," breathed Harry, shoving Malfoy's shirt open.

"Do. Will," Malfoy went on, his hips bucking up as Harry moved in, hands pulling on Malfoy's belt. "All that power's wasted on you."

"Good thing I won't have to live with the shame too long." Harry slammed Malfoy's hand against the wall again and growled without remorse, "Know what that feels like now, don't you?"

Malfoy however only sucked and bit down on the same patch of skin that would be barely low enough to cover with a buttoned collar if Harry was lucky. Groaning, Harry ground against him, both shoving and pulling at Malfoy's hip. Malfoy lifted his head and kissed viciously and for what seemed like forever, and Harry had no words to even begin to describe the raw electricity that hummed through them both and sparked wherever they touched.

When Malfoy pulled away, Harry released his wrist to brace himself against the wall instead, head ducked and panting, still groping with the other. Malfoy's eyes were on him for only a moment longer before he slipped away and under his arm. Crouching, his cloak was in hand sooner than Harry could say or do anything about it.

He walked out and away and Harry thought he heard a quiet, "Yeah."

Harry stood rooted to the spot, unwilling to follow. Eventually, he turned his back to the wall and slid downward, cursing himself for a fool, not for the first time and not for anything he'd said.

###

"Harry? Are you even listening?"

"No," Harry mumbled and took another mouthful of eggs as though his stomach weren't in knots. Hermione and Ron frowned at him as the rest of the team went about their usual antics. The Slytherin team sat near the end of their table surrounded by more noise than usual and though Harry had avoided having to watch by sitting with his back to the rest of the Hall for once, he'd already caught sight of Malfoy that Saturday morning.

Malfoy had been sitting, smirking, holding court and looking more smug than he had a right and Harry's hands itched as he suppressed the urge to go over there and beat it out of him. Harry's collar was pulled up high, though his Quidditch robes were going to reveal more than enough evidence that Harry hadn't imagined any of it, not to mention create a furor of questions that he wouldn't be able to answer.

What felt like a wad of napkins hit Harry in the back of the head and he whipped around to find Malfoy sitting on the table, one foot on the bench seat surrounded by laughing Slytherins.

"You're going down, Potter," he sneered more than said, the position of his body expressing the ultimate in nonchalance.

Dennis volunteered loudly, "That's not-- I mean, that's what he said last night!" and the Gryffindors snickered as Tatiana slapped at his head and murmured about his being a dumbarse and at least using lines he stole from her correctly. Harry on the other hand could feel the heat creeping up his neck on its way to take over his face with only a throbbing stop at the tender, purple mark that he couldn't stop thinking about. At that moment it only made him more angry.

"You're pathetic. You can't take me in a fair game and you know it," Harry snarled over the crowd noise that seemed to have died away completely as everyone began to take notice of the scene.

"I can't help it if you cheat," said Malfoy with a shrug. "It ruins the fun for everyone, did you know?"

The team booed and hissed collectively, but Harry huffed a small, derisive laugh that made Malfoy's eyes crinkle at the corners in the first sign that he'd hit a nerve.

"I've never had to cheat to beat you," said Harry, slowly standing and in turn making Malfoy sit forward, bringing the rest of the Gryffindor team (and more than a handful of sympathizers) halfway to their feet as well. Unthinkingly, he held out a hand to stop them, and to a man, they heeded. Slowly, pointedly, he popped the top button of his collar and was rewarded by the slighest flinch in Malfoy's expression that anyone else might easily miss. "Hell, I barely have to try."

It may have been a lie, but it served its purpose. Malfoy's eyes darted to Harry's throat, his nose crinkling as he stood on the seat and hopped lightly down. 

"Wh-"

"Enough!" said Professor McGonagall, popping through the group of students that were now filling the aisles between tables waiting for the fight to start.

"Take it to the Pitch," she said as the crowd parted for her. Ron made to open his mouth and she preempted him handily.

"Shoo! All of you."

With that, she turned and faced Harry, hands on hips as the crowd began to dissipate. Though he was taller than she, he still felt as though he was being towered over.

"Potter. Must we enact this scene every Slytherin game?"

Harry spared a last glare over her shoulder, answering distractedly, "Apparently, Professor."

Her hand patting his cheek startled his attention back. "Make sure it's the last time, then, would you?" she said with no little amount of humor, and Harry couldn't help but crack a small smile.

"Yes ma'am."

"Well? Go on! What are you waiting for?" she said more loudly. Harry's eyes darted across the room again but Malfoy was gone.

He set his jaw and called out, "Nothing. Let's go."

There was a cheer as the team scrambled to their feet and began the usual mad dash to the locker rooms. Only Ron hung back and along with Hermione bookended Harry for the walk. Hermione slipped her arm through his, and Ron draped an easy arm across his shoulders.

"Last game, Harry," said Hermione with a deep yet efficient sigh. "Are you ready?"

Harry murmured a, "yeah," and nodded unconvincingly. Ron however laughed and thumped his shoulder.

"Are you kidding? Harry's in top form, Malfoy's got nothing. Game's ours."

Hermione didn't want to dismiss his unease as quickly.

"You're alright? You're sure?" she asked, peering at him sideways.

"Of course he's alright," Ron cut in. "The Slytherin Chasers are too bloody slow, and their Beaters could use a brain transplant."

"Thank you, Ron," said Hermione, cold as she narrowed her eyes at him and asked again. "Harry, you're alright, though?"

"Fine. Perfect," he grumbled, glad for their company yet not overly enthused about anything else.

"It's just--" Hermione paused and peered more closely, finally poking at his neck. "What is _that_?"

Harry covered the spot he knew she was looking at with one hand, making as though he was rubbing his neck though he also knew it was far too late.

"That!" she said, poking at his hand.

"Exactly what it looks like. Problem?"

"You could have said!" said Hermione, hands on her hips. "Who? How?!"

Supremely uncomfortable, Harry rubbed at his temple. "Can we please talk about this later?"

Hermione pursed her lips, grumbled, "Fine," and turned to go. He caught her by the elbow, echoing her own words back to her.

"Later. Afterwards."

With a quick nod, Hermione said again, "Fine," adding a more relaxed, "Ok," as her shoulders began to un-hunch.

Ron sighed and turned Harry to face him, wand in hand. Harry scowled and said, "Huh?"

"Hold still," he said, lifting his wand to Harry's throat and murmuring a spell Harry recognized as sounding like the one to fix bruises. His skin tingled and he scratched at his neck only to find it didn't quite hurt anymore. The eyebrow he raised at Ron didn't hold a candle to the look on Hermione's face.

Scratching the back of his neck, Ron did his best not to look at Hermione as he shrugged and muttered, "What? Doesn't everyone know that one?"

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

"So you just want me touch it, is that right?"

"Exactly."

"...What's it gonna do?"

"See, we're not too sure about that, Nigel," said Ron even as he thumped the bright-eyed fourth year on the shoulder as reassuringly as he could manage. "But that's where you come in."

Nigel stretched his hand toward the dented metal face of the locker and Ron took a judicious step back, muttering, "Good man." Nigel's fingers faltered just short of their destination however, his eyes on Ron again.

"I heard it tried to eat Dennis Creevey two weeks ago."

" _Eat_ him? Pffft," said Ron, waving it off. "Nah."

"Then why am I testing it?" said Nigel, crossing his arms tightly. Ron sighed.

"See--" said Ron, making it up as he went along and cursing his minion for beginning to question his rule. "See, it _did_ give him trouble. It gave _Harry_ trouble and we don't want that sort of bollocks again today before the last game of the year. Harry's last game at Hogwarts. Against the Slytherins. You're really helping him out by doing this, Nigel." Ron crossed his arms too, nodding ruefully. "Big help."

Nigel still looked more than a little dubious, but he reached out again anyway. Gritting his teeth, eyes squinched shut, he touched the locker and Ron had to suppress an involuntary flinch.

Nothing happened. Nigel cracked one eye open and laid the palm of his hand against the door and when nothing continued to happen his shoulders visibly relaxed. Taking a deep breath and patting the locker, he said, "There," with a mixture of relief and pride, hazarding a smile for Ron.

"Yeah, big help," said Ron, thumping Nigel's shoulder again and steering him in another direction. "Let's go look at mine, next."

###

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Witches and Wizards, Goblins, Vampires and Ministry Officials, welcome to the last game of the year here at Hogwarts!"

Luna's voice drifted away and over the capacity crowd and faded into the shouts and cheers of the spectators that crammed both the high and low stands and stood or sat in the spaces between on the field below.

"The gates have just opened and team captains Potter and Malfoy are leading their teams out onto the Pitch, and yes, there's the traditional Glare of Death being exchanged from roughly the moment they set eyes on one another. You know, those two have been bandying it about for as long as I've been here and that much unresolved tension simply is not healthy. Fortunately Madame Pomfrey is standing by and I'm certain is skilled in fending off any wild Ustages that might--"

There was a shuffling and short hissing sound, and then Luna was back.

"Apologies, Professor. At any rate, Madame Hooch has just instructed them to shake hands and though it appears neither should be in possession of unbroken metacarpals, they're up in the air, the Quaffle has been released and the game has begun! Weasley, Frobisher and Grey are on it and-- oh dear. Let it never be said that Slytherin is the only team that gets away with rough play. Privately, of course, we all know better, but--"

###

Harry had barely taken his eyes off Malfoy in the few minutes since he'd caught sight of him across the Pitch. He'd seen Malfoy's eyes drift to his collar and back once, expression unreadable and had shaken his hand with unquestioned aggression, but hadn't quite stopped staring until both teams rose up into the air just before the Quaffle was released. At that point, the girls blew past and shook him out of his stupor. Harry tore up and after them, around through the Slytherins to break up their formation in a move of borderline legality as he ascended to a higher level of the airspace over the Pitch. He searched the playing field for any sign of the Snitch, losing sight of Malfoy temporarily and in almost a frame of mind in which it didn't matter, until Malfoy circled up and not only re-entered his line of sight, but flew in a beeline right for him.

It was then that he heard the telltale buzz of silver wings somewhere off to his right. Harry turned his head and snatched at it on general principle as he wheeled his broom around, missing as he knew he would. He could hear Gryffindor scoring in the background but his attention was now wholly on the Snitch in his sights. Leaning low over his broom, Harry pushed it harder and banked at the exact moment that the Snitch did, a move that brought him knee to knee with Malfoy with one jarring slam.

"It's mine, Potter," Malfoy called out, and whether he was looking in Harry's direction, Harry had no idea. His attention was riveted on the Snitch, for the first time that week only mildly annoyed that he had to spare any of it for Malfoy. The fluttering Snitch banked again and dove sharply and both seekers followed flawlessly to a collective gasp from the assembled crowd.

Doubtless the rest of both teams were going on about their business attempting to kill one another in their own fashion, and doubtless Luna was on about her outlandish announcing and sharing too much information, but neither had any idea. Short of an all-out invasion, neither Harry nor Malfoy were going to be drawn away from the business at hand.

###

"Oh! There's the Snitch! I can't see it, but both Potter and Malfoy can if the way they're flying is any indication. At the speed that they're approaching field level, the force with which a miscalculation would send them smashing into the ground would easily shatter over fifty percent of the bones in a person's body and would likely result in a fatality not even the Ministry could cover up. Fascinating, the way that-- oooh. They've pulled up and away, clearing the ground in what seems an impossible contravention of most laws of physics and-- Gryffindor seems to have scored again in the meantime. Twice. The score is now 80-0 Gryffindor, and it appears that the Slytherin Keeper is now dodging a blow from his own Beater. Rumor has it that approaching exams have taken their toll on Lunsford's focus, as evidenced by his performance here today as compared to three weeks ago in the decisive shut-out against Hufflepuff, though he didn't seem too open to the prospect when I offered help in Arithmancy. Where is that Snitch off to now?"

###

The Snitch dove low and around two sets of stands, low enough that Harry was sure his foot had smacked into at least one bystander too slow to duck, but honestly, he didn't much care. He was busy trying to bump Malfoy into a convenient support or possibly throw him off-balance enough that he had to circle around and catch up. Unfortunately, Malfoy was doing the same thing and after all the years they'd been doing this, no trick either pulled surprised the other. The Snitch flew directly into the stands and both Harry and Malfoy rushed it without pause, knowing exactly where the crossbars were placed under the Hufflepuff black and gold fabric billowing over them.

Out of public sight for just a moment, Malfoy took a hand off of his broom and outright shoved Harry. Harry's broom wavered and he had to dodge another crossbar to stay over it, but he grabbed at Malfoy's elbows and yanked as he did, negating any sort of edge Malfoy's move may have otherwise given him. The Snitch edged out of the stands and they shot out significantly further behind it, but still on par with one another.

"Playing dirty now?" Malfoy called, loud enough to be heard over the wind whipping past and Harry gritted his teeth. It wasn't in his nature to resort to what amounted to cheating, but he was sick and bloody well tired of Malfoy getting away with any damn thing he tried. It was how he'd won the first Griffindor/Slytherin game of the year, and he wasn't getting away with it again.

"I'm impressed," Malfoy tried again, beginning to sound as annoyed as Harry felt. "But it won't do you a sodding bit of good."

Again, Harry didn't bother to answer; he only leaned harder, willing his broom to go faster though he knew it was at its limit. Since his Firebolt was only four years old and kept in top condition, its limit was ridiculously high.

###

"Well. Malfoy and Potter are pretty much a blur from where I'm standing, though I'm assuming neither has caught the Snitch given that they're still flying and neither is whooping and being adored by half the crowd or flying dejectedly behind a stand so no one can see them swear and kick something repeatedly. And it seems Slytherin's managed a goal, bringing the game to a score of 130-10, Gryffindor, though no one can blame Weasley for missing it since he couldn't very well catch two Bludgers and a Quaffle all at once. The Creevey brothers seem determined to get in and fix that, however, you can count on the Bludgers staying near the hoops rather than chasing Seekers. These teams have apparently learned correctly that with as closely as their captains mark one another, they may as well be flying on the same broom as far as the business of aiming heavy projectiles is concerned. And while any or all of that would be entertaining for the rest of us, woe betide the Beater that mistakes Malfoy for Potter or vice versa.

"Really-- it's impressive, it's very much a Christmas-colored smatter of red and green popping in and out of the stands. And under and around and through and... "

###

Without hesitation, Harry followed the Snitch off the pitch, low through the nearby treeline and back between the Slytherin hoops, at which point the tiny ball stopped and reversed direction, flying between himself and Malfoy. Despite the fact that he'd never seen a Snitch use that tactic, Harry tried to pull his own broom up in an effort to slow down enough to grab for it. Malfoy did the same and all they managed to do was slam their heavy gloves one against the other while the Snitch buzzed away free.

"Damn it!" snarled Harry, making it the first thing he'd said during the course of the match so far. Already in the process of wheeling his broom around and following, he could see Malfoy out of the corner of his eye doing the same. He knew he wouldn't gain any edge at all, but he could bloody well avoid losing one, leaving only one problem.

The Snitch seemed to have disappeared.

###

"Well! The Snitch has decided to take cover again, and as one could expect, Potter and Malfoy are still circling the pitch close on one another's trail, knowing that the slightest advantage could mean the difference between being held aloft on the shoulders of their housemates or being trampled underfoot. It's possible that Gryffindor would refrain from trampling Potter, but one never does know. After all, Quidditch is a serious matter.

"Speaking of trampling, the score is currently 160-20 Griffindor and if Malfoy wants to win, he'll have to beat Potter to the Snitch before the Gryffindor Chasers descend upon his Keeper. Again. Oh! There they go! All of them!"

###

Near the base of a Gryffindor stand, a glint of what Harry knew had to be the Snitch suddenly registered in his field of vision. He took off in a straight line toward it, knowing peripherally that the seventh years were in it by virtue of the unnatural profusion of students painted red and gold to match their clothes and banners and the ungodly loud cheering and hooting that was going on.

He was undeterred by either other players or Bludgers crossing his path, unconsciously avoiding them in the most efficient way possible without taking his eyes off of the glimmer of gold and silver. He felt more than saw Malfoy at his elbow as he plunged yet again into the Gryffindor stands and directly under the roar of the crowd noise, chasing that little blighter through and around the maze of the undersides of bleachers and the support rafters of the taller stands. It chose one to circle up and through, and both Harry and Malfoy followed its twisted path up without hesitation.

They circled yet another heavily-crossbeamed rafter near the top of the stand, the light filtering in around them tinted blue that Harry's subconscious registered as 'Ravenclaw', but he paid it no mind. Malfoy came too near, sneering something or another, his elbow out and aiming for him, and Harry snapped. Without warning, he rose in the air just enough to dig a kick at Malfoy, and did exactly that. It was a vicious swipe intended to shove him away-- well-placed with sufficient power behind it to unseat anyone not paying attention, but he didn't worry about that; Malfoy knew better. It was nothing worse than Malfoy had ever done to him, after all.

He grunted with the satisfaction of having made contact exactly where he'd intended. It was a dark sort of glee that lasted all of the split second between the sole of his boot crunching into Malfoy's side and the exact moment in which his fingers closed around the Snitch and he looked over his arm to gloat at Malfoy... only to find that Malfoy was falling swiftly backward off of his broom.

The image of Malfoy plummeting rafter to rafter echoing the fall of his broom clattering downward was crystal clear in Harry's mind as he swore and dove, circling underneath the falling Slytherin before he'd gone more than ten feet. Heart banging wildly in his chest, he was braced for the impact as Malfoy slammed into him. Harry clamped an arm around Malfoy's waist and squeezed his eyes shut when he felt his Firebolt sink under the unexpected weight and downward force.

"Owhell!" Harry swore again as he was the one to slam bodily into a rafter, sliding down and coming to a stop on a crossbar. His broom slid out from underneath him and landed somehow balanced on the beam near his foot, and Malfoy's weight both pinned and steadied him across the thick, slanted plank upon which he now effectively sat.

"Malfoy?" he said with a groan as he shifted. "Shite. Are you alright?"

"Am I- Potter you kicked me in the bloody ribs," groaned Malfoy, shifting again, his foot trying to find purchase on the slanted rafter below in order to slide up and sit as well. "Fucking cheat. God, no one is going to believe this shiii--!"

Malfoy's sentence trailed off when his foot slipped, eyes again wide as he grabbed at the beam to pull himself up. Fortunately Harry hadn't quite been able to let go and held on as well as he could until Malfoy reached a knee onto the beam, heaved himself into sitting position and shoved Harry's hands away.

"I-- I'm--" said Harry, faltering, knowing full well it had been entirely his fault, feeling like an utter moron and unwilling to even think about the sort of consequences admitting the truth would entail. He'd just been too frustrated, too angry and now, too distracted by the fact that Malfoy was sitting between his spread thighs and sliding closer every moment as a function of the angled crossbar to even attempt a lame excuse.

"An egomaniac who'd rather kill than lose?" Malfoy said, sliding inevitably closer and scowling, one hand coming up and bracing itself around Harry.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, pushing his head against the beam behind him because that's as far away from Malfoy as he could get. "No! I just--"

"Thought you'd say it was an accident? Not like anyone would doubt Saint Potter, right?" spat Malfoy, the side of his hip now pressing squarely against Harry's crotch.

"I wasn't trying to kill you, prat," shouted Harry, head turned away. "I was sick of being the only one that's not willing to play dirty. And you know what? It _is_ easier."

"Easier than what?!" shouted Malfoy right back. 

Harry set his jaw and faced Malfoy again, his disgusted scowl unsettlingly close, yet Harry still managed a degree of sarcasm when he said, "Easier than resisting the urge to beat your stupid arse senseless."

Malfoy's eyes darted from Harry's eyes to his mouth and back, and Harry's hips shifted their approval, something Malfoy could not have missed pressed as he was against him. Malfoy licked his lower lip.

"I don't think 'beat' is the word you were looking for."

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry, fingers clamped on the beam on either side of his hips, the forgotten Snitch still held tightly in one.

"This may be the first and last time I don't argue with 'stupid'," Malfoy said more quietly. Harry thought he might have groaned again under his breath when Malfoy shifted to better face him, planting a foot on the crossbeam perpendicular to the one they were sitting on. A heavy hand braced itself on Harry's thigh rather than on the support behind and he was already breathing hard, gaze riveted on Malfoy's mouth as it moved closer-- as though not looking anywhere else might negate what was about to happen, as though it might mean less.

To avoid the confusion, Harry shut his eyes and gave in to the crush of his mouth against Malfoy's, knowing that it shouldn't seem as familiar as it did. His hand landed on Malfoy's knee and slid up his thigh, afraid of doing more than clutching compulsively as he went and losing a little bit more of that fear every time Malfoy shifted, every time he moaned an approving sound directly into Harry's mouth.

Eventually his hand rounded the comparatively safe territory of the curve of Malfoy's hip and found his side. Harry scrubbed his fingertips up and down once before sliding his hand around Malfoy's middle and making to tug him closer, but Malfoy suddenly jerked and hissed an inhale. Malfoy's hand darted to cover Harry's, his foot kicking out and bumping Harry's broom. Its precarious balance broken, it bobbled and resumed its fall down in a path after Malfoy's own.

"Ow. Bastard," he grumbled against Harry's mouth, heedless of the clattering sound of the Firebolt falling and dislodging Malfoy's Nimbus from a lower rafter, sending them both tumbling to ground level below.

"Sorry," breathed Harry, distracted, not giving a damn about the brooms either. "Don't know what the bloody hell I was thinking," he growled, claiming another kiss that was cut short when Malfoy huffed a laugh.

"You've never needed an excuse to be an idiot-- why start now?"

###

"Oh dear; that can't be good. Both Malfoy and Potter's brooms seem to have clattered from the stands, but there are no signs of either Seeker or the Snitch. Madam Hooch is headed there now, as are the Headmaster and Heads of all houses--

"I see. Thank you, Professor. I've been asked to instruct you all to stay seated please until they're able to ascertain what exactly has hap--"

###

Incredibly, Harry was moved to laughter too, in an indescribable state; snogging Malfoy of all people in the middle of a Quidditch match stuck up in a rafter of a Ravenclaw stand with a Snitch in one hand covered by Malfoy's, the graceful curve of the nape of Malfoy's neck in the other. Malfoy's mouth was for once hot and inviting and close enough that all Harry had to do was tug just enough to pull him back for another kiss, which was exactly what he did, groaning again when Malfoy shifted and slid his hand up and under Harry's jumper, nipping at his lower lip. 

He was in fact so involved in doing so, it took a moment for the sudden increase in light to register. Even when it began to filter in, it certainly didn't seem as though the entire Pitch-side canvas had been Banished, nor did it occur to him that sometime in the course of the newly-public snog that the Snitch had transferred from his hand to Malfoy's.

In fact, it wasn't until the Headmaster cleared his throat and called up calmly, "Excuse me, gentlemen. Has one of you managed to catch the Snitch?" that Harry's eyes snapped open to find that Malfoy's mirrored the same terror he felt.

Malfoy still looked terrified right up to and including the moment that he sat back and held up the hand that he'd used to take the Snitch from Harry.

"Yes, absolutely," Malfoy had the nerve to announce with a convincing smirk though his hand was still flat against Harry's skin up and under his jumper, and it took all of Harry's self-restraint not to shove him off the beam once and for all.

###

"Oh. Well. that certainly does change things. However, given that Gryffindor managed to score again, literal preceeding the figurative, that is-- yes. The game does in fact appear to be over. Final score, 170-170.

"Yes, Hogwarts, I'm afraid it's a draw. That would be your cue to go completely berserk.

"... Any moment now."

###

The explosion of sound and chaos erupted just as Harry and Malfoy were escorted from the Pitch, destined for the Headmaster's Office by way of a sole stop in their respective locker rooms. Crabbe looked up, effortlessly catching the Bludger that had been rocketing back toward him and stuffing it down into the ball chest.

"Huh," he grunted.

"Yeah," agreed Goyle, just as obviously confused as he latched it down. "Isn't Potter the one we hate?"

"One of 'em, yeah," said Crabbe.

"So," said Goyle, drawing it out as though he were thinking it through, stepping in front of the distracted Chaser to catch the second Bludger. "Why's Draco snogging him? In the middle of a match?"

The Bludger struggled against Goyle's meaty hands, but was outmatched. Crabbe shrugged.

"Dunno. Was sort of at the end of the match, though, yeah?"

Goyle frowned in thought again. He shoved the second Bludger down into the chest before finally venturing, "Draco knows what he's doing. He always does."

"Yeah," agreed Crabbe.

"Yeah," said Goyle, troubled expression slowly dissolving into a huge grin. "Remember when he made us be girls so he could hide in the Room of Requirement?"

Crabbe grinned back. "You're right. Draco knows what he's doing."

Each took one end of the chest and began carrying it as lightly as though it were empty back to the locker rooms. It wasn't until they arrived and set it down that Goyle looked at Crabbe, perplexed again.

"Why'd we have to be girls, again?"

###

Harry had studiously avoided even looking at Malfoy the whole way back to the Headmaster's Office, but luck as usual was against him when they were asked to wait alone in the sideroom while a conclusion was reached as to what ought to be done. The silence in the room was palpable and Harry sat in the furthest corner possible, arms tightly crossed, jaw set. A tapping sound began to emanate from where Malfoy stood, perusing the bookshelves on the other side of the small room as though nothing had happened, and went on and on, and Harry couldn't help but finally speak.

"I can't bloody well believe you. Cheating snake."

"Might I remind you that _you_ kicked me?" Malfoy said with a derisive snort.

"You stole the Snitch!" Harry said, popping to his feet.

"So why haven't you whined to everyone about it?"

"I plan to!"

"Who'll believe it?"

Harry kicked the chair back. "All it'll take is a Pensieve."

Without warning, Malfoy turned and flung a book at the wall, "I needed a win, Potter. Or at least for you not to."

"Part of your daring little plan for world domination, then?"

Malfoy huffed a breath, likely to cover the fleeting expression of surprise that Harry barely caught. "And if it were?"

"Then I stop you. Hadn't you heard?" said Harry, his voice rising, fists balled at his sides. "It's my job to stop megalomaniacs."

"Oh, now _I'm_ the megalomaniac," said Malfoy with dark amusement. "You don't know half of what you think you do."

"Then enlighten me," Harry said, intractable.

"Too many people depend on me, Potter," said Malfoy. "Of course, they're only Slytherins, so they don't matter to you."

Harry glared right back. "Bollocks."

Just then, the door opened and Headmaster Dumbledore, Madam Hooch, and Professors McGonagall and Snape entered the room.

"Oh for heaven's sake," muttered McGonagall, while Snape only continued to glower, arms tightly crossed. Madam Hooch cleared her throat and began speaking.

"Well, boys. Err-- given you haven't expressly broken any rules, I'm afraid that--"

The Headmaster laid a hand on her shoulder and interrupted gently, his shrewd eyes brightly focused on them both. With a small gesture, he replaced the book Malfoy had tossed aside as he spoke.

"I'm afraid that the only punishment will be a shared detention to be served this evening. You will both report to the Astronomy Tower at precisely six o'clock."

The remaining adults in the room turned confused glances on the Headmaster, but neither Harry nor Malfoy noticed, given they were busy not looking at one another yet again as they mumbled, "Yes, Headmaster."

###

Parkinson and Nott stood to one side of the entrance to the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's Office, as, oddly, did Hermione and Ron. Ron was hunched over, his finger lifted and pointing in Parkinson's face and apparently in mid-rant, while Hermione was doing nothing about the hand that Nott had placed on her shoulder.

Harry's eyes darted back and forth between them, the floor, the portrait across the way and his feet; everywhere but at Malfoy, who emerged from the spiral staircase a half-step behind him. He scratched the back of his neck and hazarded a lopsided, hopeful near-smile at Ron and Hermione, though he would not have minded if the ground chose that moment to swallow him whole. Fortunately he was saved from comment by Malfoy, but as it turned out, 'fortunately' was stretching it.

"Well! This is quite the gathering," he said grandly. "Getting comfortable? Making friends?"

No one looked more surprised than Harry.

"Oh, well done," scoffed Nott, pulling back and crossing his arms.

"Really nice," agreed Ron, unconsciously mirroring Nott as he crossed his arms and leaned forward, his voice going steadily louder. "Especially since that was for the Cup! Harry, you snogged it to a draw! _Midgame_!"

Hermione laid a hand on his arm, and literally pulled him back a step. Nott shot her a look that no one could miss and Parkinson sneered, "Planning on living happily ever after, are we?"

Harry couldn't tell if it was more directed at him or Ron, and anger flashing, he snarled, "Why don't you shut your mouth and go back to your dungeon?"

"Watch your mouth, Potter," growled Malfoy, but Nott spoke before Harry could say anything more.

"God damn it, Draco," he swore, jaw set and glaring at everyone. "We're going to have to talk to them and settle on damage control."

"You do that," Harry said, already stalking away.

"Harry!" Hermione called after him. "Wait--"

Harry cut off anything else she was planning on saying by shouting over his shoulder, " _Not now,_ " and then literally disappeared into the nearest secret passage, making in his mind a short list of places he could go to avoid any other living person.

The next logical subject of everyone's disbelieving stare became Malfoy.

"What?!" he sputtered, grimacing. "I'm not-- he's not--"

Ron projected tangible disgust as Hermione leaned into him, her mouth set in a hard line. Nott rolled his eyes and shook his head, muttering under his breath, but it was Parkinson that finally said, "Well?"

"I don't give a damn!" Malfoy shouted, and stalked off in the other direction, sounding more petulant and hurt than he ever intended.

Those remaining could only continue to stare at one another in disbelief for another moment before Hermione and Nott swore and peeled off in the appropriate direction to retrieve their respective best friends. Ron and Parkinson breathed in exact synchronicity, "Idiots," and followed.

###

It had only taken Ron and Hermione half an hour to find Harry, though considering how well they knew the castle and him, even that was surprising. Many things had been said in the course of the conversation that ensued, not all of them civil, but by the time they walked away, they were all still on speaking terms, if temporarily strained. They didn't have time or luxury to draw out childish dissention in their ranks, not with what they could be headed for after school was out.

At any rate, Harry never wanted to have that discussion again; hell, he didn't even want to think about it anymore. He'd felt forced into too many admissions he never thought he'd have to make and had voiced fears he'd hoped to keep subsumed indefinitely. Thus, he focused on finding out what exactly the Slytherins were planning instead.

When Harry did head for his detention, he did so with grim determination, chin up and taking normal routes through the castle. He knew he wouldn't be able to avoid the student body at large indefinitely, but once he passed only the second group of snickering students, lights began to flicker and tapestries shrunk away in his wake. The effect only grew more pronounced as he neared his destination.

Ignoring the impulse to pause before turning the final corner at the base of the tower stairs, Harry charged them at exactly five minutes to six, though his feet seemed to grow heavier with each step. The top landing came into view and he saw Malfoy leaning near the narrow window with his usual air of lazy contempt, but Harry could tell immediately something vital was off.

For his part, Malfoy pushed away from the wall too quickly, hands shoved too far in his pockets to be normal and said without preamble, "We should talk." Harry did pause this time, peering up and down the corridor, immediately on alert and already angry.

"Should we?" he asked, ascending the final step and making to move past Malfoy toward the classroom door.

Malfoy reached for his arm, though it appeared to pain him to do so. "I have information that I-- we think you need."

Reluctantly, Harry allowed Malfoy to stop his forward motion, though he still wasn't looking at him. "So now you're willing to talk? What's the catch?"

"The _catch_ is that we'd like for you and your people not to--" Malfoy stopped and grumbled an exasperated sound under his breath. "I can't talk about this in a stairwell."

"Oh?" said Harry, belligerent again, despite the fact that he'd intended to speak to Malfoy to begin with. "Why's that?"

"Don't be an idiot," said Malfoy, cocking his head in the direction of the stairs. Harry followed his line of sight only to find two sets of wide eyes peering up through the bannister. The unrecognizable girls broke into tittering laughter and scurried away and Harry swore under his breath. Malfoy took a step back, opened the door to the Astronomy classroom and motioned Harry through.

Harry scowled and muttered, "Sod directly off," but he went anyway, never quite turning his back on Malfoy. In turn, Malfoy was already murmuring an Inperturbable Charm as he pulled the door shut. The shade slammed down on its own, and Harry watched as Malfoy turned and leaned against the doorframe, crossed his arms and proceeded to pinch the bridge of his nose and say nothing.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes, exactly," Malfoy muttered. 

"Huh?" said Harry, perplexed.

"I can't believe this," Malfoy said, then shrugged once heavily and pulled his hand away from his face. "I don't know what you overheard, but--" he took a breath and looked away. "But we discussed it and have come to the conclusion that you-- err. Your people need to know."

Impatient, Harry blurted, "Just say what you're here to say."

"I'm getting to it, prat," Malfoy snarled. "Excuse me, but handing you my arse on a platter wasn't on my agenda for the day."

"Is that what we're doing here?"

"I don't know what the hell we're doing, Potter. I don't--" Malfoy visibly set his jaw and stopped himself. "I need your word that this goes no further than you, Granger and the Weasel."

"Tell me first, then we'll talk," said Harry, crossing his arms obstinately.

"Your _word_ ," Malfoy insisted. 

Against his better judgement, Harry gave a grudging nod. "Fine."

Malfoy paused, clearly conflicted, before he actually said, "No matter what you may hear later, we don't support the Dark Lord."

"Right, " Harry shrugged it off as useless. "Because you're aiming to take his place."

Malfoy barked a short, sharp laugh.

"You think I want to be the next Dark Lord?"

"I overheard you and Nott, alright? You're building up a base of followers, and you're--"

"--trying to keep them alive and out of the hands of an utter waste of space and a pathetic excuse for a Slytherin," finished Malfoy, turning a disgusted grimace on Harry. "Self-preservation. That's what we do. Ambition is well and good, but it doesn't get you any damn place if you lose half your network clawing your way to a standstill."

Harry furrowed his brow and Malfoy went on, ever more vehemently.

"I don't want to be the Dark Lord, Potter. I want to bribe and buy and work my way into power and get my way and have minions and live like a fucking prince, but I don't want to die trying and I don't want to see people I care about die trying. You know what else? I honestly don't give a rat's arse about the Mudbloods anymore, because I for one won't be contributing to the breeding pool and family name be damned."

Harry could only stare, letting the information filter in, not bothering to pretend that his eyes weren't riveted on Malfoy's.

"I need them to believe that they're better off following me than their parents. Do you understand?" Malfoy broke the connection, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes and swearing under his breath. "I need to convince them that I'm just as good as you are. Overrated hack though you may be."

Rendered speechless, Harry covered his mouth with one hand, unable even to answer the insult.

"...That's why you helped your mother disappear," Harry finally murmured.

"She's out of the way," Malfoy said by way of agreement. "They can't use her to get to me. And if I fail... then it's just me that pays." He huffed a mirthless laugh, allowing his hands to drop folded across his chest. "Not including anyone that chose to follow."

"So Dumbledore knows," said Harry, but Malfoy shook his head.

"He agreed to help her find a place to stay hidden, but I didn't tell him why."

Harry was sure Dumbledore knew. He must have, regardless of the fact that he'd never mentioned it to Harry. Didn't he?

"You-- all of you could join us," Harry ventured, not sure how he felt about the prospect. "We've--"

"No," interrupted Malfoy definitively. "Your people think we were all born with an Unforgivable curse on the tip of our collective tongue, and there is no way in hell I'm following your lead."

"I'm not the only one," said Harry, still somewhat in disbelief. "I'm not even in charge."

"You're the one with the power," said Malfoy simply. "If you're not leading now, you will be."

Harry turned it all over in his mind.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

It seemed that Malfoy was prepared for the question. Without hesitation, he pulled what appeared to be a folded bit of parchment from the pocket of his trousers, examined it briefly, then stepped forward and offered it to Harry.

"You'll find a core group of Death Eaters at that location the day we leave school. Most of the affected seventh years are expected to be taken directly there from Kings Cross."

Snatching the parchment from Malfoy's hand, Harry immediately opened it to peer at the neat looped cursive that gave an address in an area Harry didn't recognize.

"And?" asked Harry.

"And then presumably we were to be escorted elsewhere to be properly welcomed," Malfoy said with a trace of anger.

"Marked."

"Some. Their top prizes first, at least," said Malfoy, adding needlessly, "That would include me, in case you wondered."

"Wait- you said _were to be_."

"The second page is a list of students we know so far to be included in the larger group. You would do well to suspect any of those students that do not disappear mysteriously in between now and then. Any that do are with me."

Harry peered at the second page and scowled.

"It's blank."

"Obviously," Malfoy scoffed. "Tell Granger I encrypted it using Delfin's third and fifth invisibility algorithms. She'll be able to decrypt it."

"That's the grand plan, then?"

"Part of it, anyway."

Harry refolded the sheets of parchment and stuffed them into his shirt pocket with some care. "And then what?"

"That's all you're getting."

"I'm giving the address to Dumbledore," said Harry, cocking his chin in defiance. Malfoy only shrugged.

"Fine. Don't tell him where it came from."

Harry was silent for a long moment as the realization began to sink in that Malfoy was completely on the level. "You're serious."

"Don't be a moron either," said Malfoy with a trace of a smirk. "I know it's hard but--"

"Fuck you," said Harry with the barest hint of a smile to match. "And being a thieving cheat was part of the plan how?"

"To _prove_ you're an overrated hack," Malfoy said, sounding slightly more normal than he had in days. "Didn't I tell you to pay attention?"

"You're one to talk," said Harry, gaze sliding to the window and shifting from foot to foot in the resultant quiet.

"Beat you twice this year, didn't I?"

"Once," Harry growled. "How the hell are we going to explain what happened?"

"I'm better than you?" offered Malfoy. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Keep dreaming," he grumbled, unsure again. "I'm talking about the rest of it."

"I told you, that's all you're getting," said Malfoy resolutely, and Harry shook his head.

"I meant-- about what happened in the stands. God, who's thick now?"

"Still you. And I don't know," Malfoy answered, moving closer still after another short pause. "It depends. Either way, I'll let Theo handle the spin." Harry was overcome with the polar opposite instincts to either run or meet him halfway, and thus remained still.

"Depends? On what?"

"On whether we spend the next three weeks staring each other down or sneaking off to do this."

"Do wh--"

This time, when Malfoy's mouth pressed to his, Harry's hands moved boldly, winding around him and sliding down the curve of his arse with little reservation, groping, pulling him flush to his own body. With nothing to interrupt them and no reason to stop, Harry mapped the planes and curves of Malfoy's mouth with his own endlessly in the waning light, not interested in anything else, and not sure he ever would be again. He breathed Malfoy in, tasted his skin, raked short nails up the curve of his spine and lost himself thoroughly. He shuddered at the slide of Malfoy's tongue down the column of his throat and the teeth that followed carefully down and back to the soft flesh just underneath his ear and managed to nudge him back for a kiss that smacked of intimacy too deep to be comfortable.

Eyes slitted open, Harry struggled for a breath though he was crushed by the weight of wanting more. He lifted a thumb and ran it slowly across Malfoy's lower lip, staring in what he could only describe as continued, irrational disbelief.

"Don't make it about anything it's not, Potter," said Malfoy dismissively, belied by the hesitance in his eyes as they shifted down and away from Harry. "This is finished when school is. Understand?"

"Huh?" Harry more grunted than said, brow furrowed.

"You likely won't live much past that and I can't afford people thinking we're on the same side."

"...Thanks."

"Of course," Malfoy went on, bitterly. " _I_ may not live much past that. It's all relative."

"Bollocks," Harry insisted. "You don't know that. And I for one bloody well do not intend to die."

"Good luck with that," Malfoy muttered, still not quite meeting Harry's eyes again. "Three weeks, Potter. It's my only offer. That's all I've got."

"Fine. Done," said Harry without further hesitation. At that distance, he didn't give a damn about propriety or shame or seven years of animosity and unhealthy obsession; whatever it took to get what _he_ wanted for once was perfectly acceptable in his mind. It was possible they'd kill one another in the space of three weeks anyway, and if they didn't... well. People changed their minds, didn't they?

The backs of Harry's thighs bumped into the work table behind him before he realized he was moving. He sucked in a hard inhale as Malfoy popped the fastenings of his belt, half-open mouth scant centimeters from his.

"We can't do this here."

Malfoy whipped out his wand, spelled the door locked and cocked his chin at the chalkboard that held a message that Harry hadn't noticed earlier.

" _Your detention has been rescinded. Have a good evening._ "

"Yes," Malfoy said, back to smirking as he tossed his wand aside. "We can."

###

Harry.

Was incapable of more than single word answers at a time. He'd strung a few more together at some point in time, but one was the average.

For example, Ron had asked, "What happened, mate?" when he stumbled back into the dorm at a little past three am, and all Harry managed to say was, "Malfoy."

Neville's head had popped out of the drapery surrounding his bed and he'd asked, "Alright, Harry?" To which Harry had said, "Yeah." To be fair, he actually said, "Oh yeah," but 'oh' in this case was more an exclamation.

With that, Harry had crawled into his bed and passed out face first still dressed, if disheveled. After _that_ no one had seen him again until Ron and Hermione woke him thoughtfully by standing on either side of his bed and staring at him, about half an hour before lunch. Then he'd managed, "Hi", "Hungry", "Time is it?", and "Gimme a second."

Ron and Hermione had only had each other to stare at while he showered and changed. Very sad.

The point, however, was that by the time the three of them headed down to lunch, Harry had also said, "Later," and Ron and Hermione hadn't pressed. More precisely, they'd pressed and he'd ignored them easily, ignoring everyone else with the aid of his Invibility Cloak. He felt like an utter fool. A tired, ecstatically stupid fool with funny marks in places that didn't often see sunlight and a sudden realization that he ought to make an effort to communicate what had happened to his best friends. To that end he paused just outside Gryffindor Tower, tugged them into a side corridor where he could put up not one but two Imperturbables, pulled the cloak off and then peered at them very seriously.

It was very, very grave expression... that melted nearly immediately into a stupid grin, pink cheeks and all.

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione with a huge sigh. "Do I even want to know?" Ron only muttered in disbelief.

"Ok, alright. Sorry," Harry tried again. He pulled the parchment that Malfoy had given him out of his pocket, a small corner of his subconscious reminding him that he really ought to sort of be 'Draco' now, shouldn't he? But he set that aside to speak to Ron and Hermione.

"Dr-- Damn." Harry set his jaw and tried again, handing the first sheet to Ron. "The day we leave school there's going to be a group of Voldemort's people there, waiting for this group--" he held up the second, seemingly blank page, "--of students to arrive directly from King's Cross." Hermione tilted her head at it.

"But--"

"Delfin's third and fifth invisibility algorithms. Malfoy said you'd be able to work it out."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well-- I mean. _I_ can, but--"

"At any rate," Harry said, "We need to get the address to the Order. This list and what I'm about to say next needs to stay between us."

Ron held up a hand. "Hermione's right, mate. Do we want to know?"

" _Yes_." Harry snorted a laugh, though his expression darkened as he went on. "Malfoy, Nott and Parkinson are staging a rebellion of their own, beginning with a mass disappearance. Anyone on that list doesn't disappear after school... We'll be seeing them at that address," he said, cocking his head at the parchment in Hermione's hand. Hermione and Ron gaped at him.

"And then what?" asked Ron as the enormity of the situation began to register properly.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged.

"That's-- I mean-- what does he intend to accomplish? How?" said Hermione, her voice rising. "Why don't they just join us--"

"I don't trust it," grumbled Ron simultaneously. "No. It's got to be some sort of--"

They both stopped and looked at one another.

"Oh," said Hermione. "There _is_ that."

"Yes," said Harry, finally handing Hermione the list.

It was quiet again for a long moment. Hermione tucked the list away carefully as Ron did the same with the address.

Hermione finally ventured, "So. Malfoy."

Harry tried valiantly to suppress a rueful grin, distracted all over again. "Err--"

"All I need to know," said Ron, hands up, "Is whether I should beat his arse for the stunt at the game or whether we should get used to... y'know." He gestured at Harry, "This."

There was no doubt Harry was still angry about the game and how things had turned out, and the dread at having to face the school was beginning to seep in under his irrational high, but Harry only shrugged and said, "The year's point totals put us ahead anyway. Cup's ours."

" _Harry_ ," said Hermione.

"I don't know," said Harry. "I still can't stand him. And yet-- I don't know. We're um. I don't know what we are."

"...But you are?" Hermione said, brow furrowed trying to understand.

"Err. Sort of?"

"Bastard," exhaled Ron, adding quickly, "Not you. Mostly."

Hermione sighed. "Be careful, Harry. He's not..."

"He's a Slytherin," said Ron, intent.

"You could get hurt," she added, to which Harry only nodded again.

"Believe me. I know," Harry murmured, eyes shifting away. And if anyone did know about Malfoy, it would be Harry.

###

"Did you hear?" came a voice drifting from the Hufflepuff table at lunch on Sunday in the Great Hall. "Potter and Malfoy disappeared last night from detention and no one's seen them since! People are saying that they've gone and run off!"

Another girl's voice sighed loudly, "That's so r--"

"Wrong," finished a third, pointing toward the set of doors nearest the Gryffindor table. "Potter's right there."

"Oh!" said the first, standing in her seat to peer out of the door swinging shut in the wake of someone else's arrival. "They're _both_ right there."

All three popped up from their seats, dashed over and stood just inside the doorway where they could still hear what was said without being seen, and when the crowd grew, they still had the best spots.

###

"How is it that you are always in my way, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, coming to a stop and crossing his arms just outside the Great Hall with only Parkinson and Nott at his side. Harry stopped short a few feet away, holding a hand out absently to stop Ron who he could hear practically growling under his breath.

"That's what happens when you follow me around," Harry said, nonchalant. "Did you want something?"

"Always," smirked Malfoy. "Fortunately I don't lack for ways of getting whatever that might be."

"Cheating, lying and stealing aside?" said Harry. His attention was so riveted on Malfoy, looking for sign or signal that anything had changed, that he was oblivious of Hermione pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Prove it," Malfoy shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"The amount of dysfunction present here is incredible, truly," she sighed. Nott snorted a laugh and looked away, earning a glare from Malfoy.

"If you only knew," Malfoy muttered. It was possible he was addressing Hermione, but his gaze only slid slowly from Nott back to Harry.

"Yeah, well, if you don't mind moving your pack of hyenas there, we'd like to eat," said Ron unkindly.

Parkinson rolled her eyes. "That was probably the worst insult in the history of bad insults, Weasel. _Hyenas_?"

"You've got to admit, there's a resemblance," said Harry sensibly.

It only took two steps to bring Malfoy face to face with an unflinching Harry, one eyebrow barely cocked as he muttered, "What does that say about the lot of you?"

Harry was in real danger of reverting back to one-word answers and was more than a little embarrassed by this fact, given exactly who he was talking to and everything that had brought them to that point, knowing that a war waited for them just on the other side of examinations and that they all faced a future that held no guarantees whatsoever. Honestly? He would have been just as embarrassed to admit that all the keen awareness did was drive him to behave more rashly. Unconsciously, he dragged the edge of his lower lip between his teeth, smirking back as he tilted his head just enough to make it seem as though he should be whispering, though he did not.

"That we have bad taste?"

Just like that, the warm weight of Malfoy's hand slid its way unerringly around the nape of Harry's neck and drew him in close, well-versed in the workings of just how, though still kissing with an underlying edge of newness. Harry let his eyes fall shut and kissed back with the sense of having known Malfoy forever and of only just realizing this fact, grinning into it when he found that his skin still felt raw from the night before.

Ron groaned, "ugh," in the background somewhere accompanied by a chorus of what might have been mixed 'awww!' and 'oooh!' and 'eww, wow' from just the other side of the doors that led into Great Hall.

One hand clutching Malfoy's arm and no recollection of having put it there, Harry pulled back for fear of taking the snog further than he ought in the middle of a well-traveled corridor with half the student body craning their heads through cracked-open doors and around corners to watch.

"Three weeks," Malfoy moved to breathe unsteadily in his ear, slipping something instantly recognizable into Harry's trouser pocket. "Don't get used to it."

Then the heavy, round item in his pocket fluttered of its own accord and the flickering realization that they could be playing this scene out for far longer than that took even deeper root than it had before. Harry pulled a slow, lazy grin, turned his face to better address Malfoy and murmured, "Bollocks."

Malfoy gave him the barest of shoves away, expression unreadable, and walked away through the doors. Parkinson scoffed and followed without another glance, along with Nott, who offered an insincere shrug.

"Ugly, stupid and universally loathed, that's what hyenas are," said Ron under his breath, glaring after them. He pointed at Parkinson as she disappeared behind Malfoy, "Just like I loathe them. Especially _her_."

"Yes, Ronald," Hermione agreed with an overly solicitous nod, though she still appeared to be deep in thought, thus, in a relatively normal state.

"I do!" he insisted. Hermione smirked.

"I can tell."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Ron, finally reaching to hold the door open and beginning to go bright red. Hermione patted him on the stomach as she made to walk in past him.

"Uh-huh," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "Harry? Are you coming?"

Harry had the Snitch in his hand and had been palming it over and under his fingers, keeping hold of it by one wing and staring absently after them, half-listening. When Hermione spoke, his attention snapped up and he smiled.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry," he said, and hurried to catch up.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Weeks Later; an Epilogue of sorts.

Harry slipped into a maintenance closet regardless of the 'off-limits' sign hung conveniently at average eye level. The packed Hogwarts Express chose just that moment to bank left and the door slammed hard. He swore under his breath, cut short by Draco's voice quiet behind him, his all-too familiar fingertips traveling up the length of Harry's spine.

"Could you have drawn more attention to yourself? Made an announcement? Rung a bell?"

Grinning somewhat reluctantly, Harry turned and slumped against the door. "I might've. Some fireworks maybe--"

Draco's hand slammed into the doorframe over his shoulder, his mouth descending on Harry's without another word. Harry knew the feeling. He was out of time, out of the luxury of disappearing into a dark corner of the castle or sneaking Draco up into the Tower; all he had to go on was the assumption that Draco was as invested as he was, and just as unwilling to let go. _Three weeks_ , his arse.

Surfacing eventually, Harry blinked and let his elbows drop over Draco's shoulders, fingers of one hand wound through his hair. "Bloody well let me finish a sentence now and again, would you?" he mumbled.

"No," muttered Draco, nibbling at his ear. "No point."

Harry smiled despite himself.

"Prat. You're sure about this?"

Draco groaned, brow furrowed. "It was my idea."

Harry tilted his head. "It's all for show, you know that."

"Just because we're not--" Draco paused, jaw set. "It doesn't mean anything."

As usual, Harry heard what he wanted to hear. "You're right. Just because we won't be in the same place doesn't mean a bloody thing." He wasn't giving up that easily.

"Damn it, Potter," Draco swore, but didn't come near relinquishing his hold on Harry. "It has to be believable."

It wasn't the first indication that Draco was not willing to write him off entirely, and Harry managed not to sound condescending when he said, "It will be. You'll be an absolute bastard. It's what you're good at."

Draco was still glaring, but it lost a good deal of its force when he slipped his hand up under Harry's shirt and absently began stroking bare skin. "And once it's made the gossip rounds I'll seem ten times worse. You'll cut a perfect tragic figure and no one will suspect that I don't actually intend to destroy _you_. Which, as you may recall, I still plan on doing."

Harry snorted and shoved him. "Fuck off."

"I think we could manage it," said Draco with a negligent glance to his watch.

"Oh?" said Harry, just as willing to let it drop. "Write that into your plan, too?"

"Not at all. You are merely a deviation," Draco said, serious yet smirking. "Perhaps we should leave that at deviant and be done with it."

"You would know."

"Are you saying I'm right?"

"As if."

"You're saying I'm right."

"Not in the least," said Harry. Passing voices in the corridor outside made them both look up, going quiet until the voices were completely gone, as if there weren't a strong enough Imperturbable on the closet. Perhaps they were a touch too paranoid, and perhaps it was not beyond reason.

"Alright, Harry sighed. "Parkinson, Nott, Ron and Hermione are patrolling the train. You and I are sitting in compartments on opposite ends of the train after this scene for public benefit. You and yours are all disappearing just before London. We have no idea where you went."

"Amazing," said Draco, gone curiously quiet. "And here I was under the impression your long term memory was limited to two-word commands."

Sliding his hands down and around Draco's middle, Harry only half-glared. "You."

Draco rolled his eyes as though bored, but Harry knew better. "Providing you with all relevant results of my break-in to Malfoy Manor at my earliest convenience and hoping you can manage to work out what the hell to do with it before we all are forced to relocate to a tropical beach and adopt pseudonyms should we survive your incompetence."

Harry tugged on him in response, his hips tight against Draco's in a messy grind. Draco sucked in a hard breath, but only murmured, "You'll want to be careful with that. We may in fact survive."

Mouth pulled into a tight line, Harry went quiet too, letting his head drop back against the compartment wall again.

"Don't go getting maudlin now," murmured Draco, dropping his head to mouth Harry's exposed throat. "Your job isn't done."

Harry only let him, the sound of the train making progress resembling nothing so much as the gears of an unwelcome clock. Draco continued to speak, his breath warm on Harry's skin between kisses and a touch of teeth, nimble fingers already unbuttoning Harry's shirt.

"My loyalties lie with _my_ side and the people on it. You understand."

It was sick, that Draco should read him so well. Worse still that he should think this was helpful. Nevertheless, Harry mumbled something vaguely affirmative.

" _Your_ side and mine just happen to be working toward similar ends," said Draco, pulling aside worn-soft flannel and moving to drag his tongue along Harry's collarbone. "We may have agreed to collaborate, but I will neither report to you nor inflate your ego."

Harry frowned again, shutting his eyes, sick of hearing about how much he--

"Potter. Look at me," said Draco, his fingers tracing Harry's lips. "I cannot stand you, have no idea why I'm doing this and attribute my temporary insanity to your mouth."

Harry carefully allowed one eye to slide open-- he'd heard the rant about achieving his own ends, but this was new--

"Sodding eyes are a color unknown in nature," Draco mused, pulling Harry's glasses off, only this time folding them as carefully as he could with one hand and sliding them into his own shirt pocket. "Nott says they're 'radioactive', whatever the fuck that means. I don't think he meant it as a compliment." Harry's hands stilled on Draco's back.

"I am-- thoroughly, lamentably addicted to you, and I am not accustomed to not having the things I want," murmured Draco. "And I can't have you until this is done with, not really. Which is fitting, because I've somehow managed to put myself in a similar position." Harry barely breathed, riveted on Draco as he was so often, though his expression was far more open than Harry had ever seen it.

"Since you're the one that has to end it, I'm sure we're thoroughly out of luck, but I suppose..." Draco paused and let his forehead drop against Harry's. "I suppose that it's possible this isn't over."

"...You suppose that, do you?" said Harry, floored at the admission.

"I might," said Draco, palm flat on Harry's chest.

"You might?" Harry said, his mouth pulling up into a smile despite everything.

"Don't try for smug," murmured Draco, pushing Harry's shirt off of his shoulders. "It doesn't suit you."

###

On elbows and knees as he was over Draco on the transfigured cushions in the narrow closet behind a door heavily spelled shut, Harry kissed alternately flushed lips and well-gnawed-upon throat and chest to the backdrop of the chugging train. Draco grinned lazily, his fingers engaged in pulling on Harry's beyond-mussed hair.

"Astounding," Draco said, voice heavy and sated. "Just when I think it can't get worse or more unbelievably messy, it defies me. How am I not surprised?"

Harry pulled a smirk lifted directly from Draco. "It's a gift."

A knock on the door on the door interrupted and wiped the smirk right off his face. Three in quick succession followed by two more, thus Ron or Hermione (or Nott or Parkinson, Harry supposed) signaling that it was time to move. Frowning, Harry didn't say anything more as he pulled back, up onto his knees and rocked up onto his feet. He offered Draco a hand up that was surprisingly accepted, which resulted in their standing face to face, stark naked in the stuffy little room that reeked of sex and secrets and uncertainty.

"Move," grumbled Draco, reaching blindly for his clothes as he pulled away. They cleaned up and dressed in silence, restored everything that had been transfigured and tried to set the closet to rights with a hastily-incanted spell or two, quickly enough that they managed to find themselves facing one another, fully dressed and at a loss for what came next. Draco finally shrugged and reached next for the door, but Harry caught his hand and that easily found himself kissing Draco again with a desperate edge until the second set of thumps on the door that inevitably came after too short a time.

"I--" said Harry, at a loss for what else to say. "Be careful."

Draco squeezed his hand and let it go as though it might never have happened.

"Get it over with quickly, would you?"

With that, he broke the locking enchantment and opened the door, sneer firmly in place as he strolled out.

Harry looked away with a disbelieving huff and then followed, pulling the door shut behind him and trying for the part of properly chagrined. Ron and Parkinson were standing there, glares not diminished at all even when Draco kissed Parkinson on the cheek.

"Time to go, Draco," she said, still displeased but grudgingly returning the gesture.

"Any second now--" said Ron under his breath. Just then the car door to the left slid open and Dean and Lavender came through. Ron didn't wait to raise his voice as though continuing a conversation in progress.

"You know what? Just stay on your side of the playground, Malfoy. I never want to see your pointy face again."

Parkinson stepped up without hesitation and sneered, "What? Saint Potter too heartbroken to fight his own battles now? How very sad. It should make for brilliant publicity."

Ron glared down on her and snarled, "One more hour, Parkinson. One."

"I look forward to it, Weasel."

"I'll miss it a little, I think," Draco added, tone icy cold and sneering. "You were so easy to play, Potter. I can't imagine I'll meet anyone quite so gullible again."

Lavender gasped and covered her mouth, leaning into Dean and going completely unnoticed.

"Like I ever gave a damn about you," said Harry, channeling every bit of anger and bitterness into saying it properly, though it rung hollow in his own ears.

"You'll give a damn next time I see you," said Draco. "Mark me."

"I'm not afraid of you, Malfoy."

"Pity," Draco snarled up in Harry's face only to shove him aside and walk past. "You should be."

"Yes," said Parkinson as she unpinned her Prefect's badge and tossed it at Ron, smacking his arse in passing while his hands were occupied. "Please do excuse us. Draco and I have places to be."

Ron didn't need to fake a glare as they disappeared out of the car to the right, and Harry didn't have to try to find that he could only really stare off into the distance, startled back by Lavender suddenly nearby.

"Oh, Harry! You poor thing. That was just... oh god. _Beastly_ ," she said with a pointed glance at Ron. "I'm so sorry!"

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry waved it off. "It's fine, Lav. It's no big deal. Trust me, I'm not surprised."

Lavender's eyes darted down the corridor toward the direction she came in. She patted his arm, head tilted and though Harry was secure in the knowledge she'd tell _everyone_ she met next exactly what she'd seen, he could also see that the sympathy was genuine.

"I'll just... I'll go. I'm so sorry, Harry. He's such a bastard."

Dean walked up as she rushed past, murmuring, "Be right there, Lav." As the door shut behind her, he snickered and low-fived Ron.

"See you both in a bit?" he asked.

"Yeah, brilliant," said Ron. Dean nodded, thumped Harry's arm in passing and followed Lavender.

"Alright, Harry?" Ron ventured once the door was entirely shut again.

Harry nodded, but didn't say anything. Fortunately he was saved from further comment as the door to his left opened again. Hermione and Nott entered the car, walking close but elbows carefully not touching.

"There you are," said Hermione, businesslike though her eyes lingered on Harry. "We just saw Dean. No trouble, I assume."

"The usual," said Ron, grimacing at Nott. "It's been dealt with."

"Of course. How very Gryffindor," Nott said, unimpressed. "Is anyone unconscious? Transfigured?"

Harry turned his own glare on Nott, willing to take his frustrations out on him. "No one who didn't deserve it, at least."

"We should all get going," said Hermione with a significant glance of her own for Nott. "We do have duties to attend to."

"Fine," said Nott, clearly annoyed. He glanced up and down the car, then offered Hermione a formal hand to shake.

Hermione took it and shook it quickly, murmuring, "Good luck to you."

"Likewise," he said meeting her eyes, expression growing colder as he spared a glare in Harry and Ron's direction. "You'll need it."

Harry barely spared a glance for Nott leaving, still wrapped up in his own thoughts.

"Harry?"

"Huh?" he said, trying to recall if he'd heard Hermione say anything else.

"Honestly," she huffed even as she paused to take his hand. "Let's go."

Ron's hand landed heavily on his back and Harry let them both pull and steer him through the divider door. The door of the first compartment was open and though the conversation had been loud enough to be heard in the corridor before, it went quiet as they walked past. Unsurprisingly enough, it flared up just before the door slid shut once they were gone.

"Sure sign Lavender's been by, hmm?" said Ron.

The corner of Hermione's lip twisted upward and she muttered, "Rather."

Harry said nothing. They were quiet through the next two cars until they reached a compartment door that Ron opened onto chaos, loud laughter, and a badly-disguised bottle of _something_ making rounds. There was a moment of relative silence and then a cheer ran through the assembled students crammed into the tiny space. Seamus handed Harry the paper bag and Neville made a spot for him on the seat by pulling Luna into his lap.

"Come on, Harry," said Seamus. "What's the first thing you're you doing when you get back?"

Slumping into the proffered seat, Harry took a swig from the bottle, shuddered a little and handed it on.

"I"m going to move into my house and sleep for a day straight," he said to a chorus of laughter. "And then... Then I guess we're going to get to work."

Another cheer went up, cut short by a breathless voice behind Ron in the doorway. Nigel stuck his head into the compartment. "Did you hear?! Potter and-- Oh. Guess you have," he said all in one breath backing out and practically running away.

Seamus hoisted the bottle and grinned, "To Lav!"

Yet another cheer sounded and Ron eyed the paper bag longingly even as Hermione tugged him away.

"One more hour, Ron," she said, exasperated but smiling. "You can do it."

Ron didn't look convinced, but he went anyway, calling to Harry as they moved away, "See you at the station, mate?"

There was a pause, then Harry managed a smile that was only half-contrived. He loved these people, too, after all.

"Yeah--"

_Too_? Oh hell. He had a problem.

"--Yeah, go on. I'll be fine."

Hermione offered a little wave, as did Ron, the door shutting out a voice already asking them if they'd seen Nott or Parkinson. Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair, and found Luna was handing him the bottle again.

"You will be, Harry," she said, seriously. "We believe in you."

Unsure of what he could say in the face of her unflinching certainty, Harry was grateful that she didn't wait for a deep, meaningful answer. Instead, Luna barked a loud laugh at the tale that Seamus was spinning of his planned adventures and Harry was suddenly not the center of attention again. He took a drink, passed the bottle, settled back into his seat, and listened to the sound of the train dragging him forward into his future.

* * *


End file.
